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Mane Omsy Sep 2017
People said he was demented
Who strode past their dignity
He was happy and decorated
It’s more likely, they’d say so
They weren’t illiterate or unaware
They were taught, from the beginning
These men aren’t humans, beggars
He lies in the street paths
Poverty taught him kindness
To be simple and be thankful
For every penny he thanked
But the ones who warded him off
Still craving for more
Believed they were cursed
And not thankful for the fortunes
Let us be silent for their greed
That will perish with death
.
.
People who turn their faces away from less fortune people aren't really considered as human beings. Humans have hearts, that will let them another chance in their lives.
Dhaara T Sep 2017
Cow dung
She hung
Between her legs

Dry leaves
She'd weave
Into disposable wear

Even second hand sanitization
Was considered better condition
So she ducked into the safety of unknown risks

Absorb, if it could
Wear it she would
No space for concerns, no choice

On one hand they say
Empowered today, we women, stay
On the other, stands she, in rural patches of ignorance
It's sad to know that even today, as what not happens in the name of "feminism", there are still women in my country who cannot even afford sanitary napkins, let alone clothes. As a result, many rural women use substitutes, but it's heartbreaking to see the extent they would bend to, only because they cannot afford anything more.

Yet, I feel just as proud as I am angered by the story of such people (vs the wasteful lives of the 'haves'...a gap that huge is unfair!) -
proud because of people like Anshu Gupta (founder of Goonj, a not-for-profit organisation), who, along with his team is working towards changing this scenario with the distribution of biodegradable and affordable sanitary napkins, amongst other commendable initiatives.

This is not a collaboration or anything of that sort, neither am I associated with them in any way (other than supporting their causes), I am genuinely touched by their efforts and naturally, feel like spreading the word about their work. It would be great if you too could have a look at their website (goonj.org), and if you're convinced, monetarily or non-monetarily, support their cause?
Aditya Roy Sep 2017
Johnny’s at his trailer home
Mixing up medicines
Trying to get through his life
Studying on the pavement
Saving enough just to get through high school then again

Look what you did
Kid you jumped into someone’s bed
Had a babe
But couldn’t get ahead
Follow your leaders
Get off the eternal parking meter

Get wet get set
Johnny come let’s bet
Watch the shuffle
He’s using a cold deck
They’ve kept you in check
You’re obviously still not gonna lose the bet

Look at what you’ve done away with kid
You’ve run away with a 100 bid
Shocked looks on their faces
Finally gaining some confidence in yourself
You use that confidence
And build up
To do away with the hard labor
Of giving free ******* on the subway stations

50%, 60%, 70%
You’re ******* ******
Go ahead
Get dressed
Today you’re gonna go to bed
With your wife and your kid

Look ahead kid
The world’s at your feet
You study so there’s nothing you can’t eat
But only thing that’s missing
In your lonely life
Is an intent to give you a blessing and no retreat

Look out kid
See what you did
On your life you’ve had to keep a lid
Taking concern from God and government
And scumbags and still avoiding property dealers
The story of an ordinary guy who tries to make it life through the right, which doesn't pay, and wrong and vacuous. But money isn't everything because sometimes the bail is set too high.
S C Netha Sep 2017
We sit on a rock,
overlooking someone's fields
and pretend we are somewhere far
not just a few blocks away from home
It's Cinderella-like the way it happens.
The lush reeds turn to palm trees
fertile farmlands into sandy beaches
A sad attempt to accomodate our imagination.

I know we have always been too big for this country,
but right now it reeks of desperation.

So we look to the skies for validation
but in the dam we find motivation
from the water that flows without a destination.

"Does it hope to become  river?", we wonder.
If it hopes to grow from it's  current state.
Like a butterfly from a catterpillar.
Is it's movement a show of faith?
That the reeds and plants will open
and clear a path  for it's murky waters.
This is why the dam feels like home:

Though we can't see our reflections,
the dam is able to reflect our ambition
to succeed regardless of our location.
Everyday struggles of being an ambitious young person in Zimbabwe. A little rough around the edges but it comes from a deep amd raw place in my soul.
"Are you are reptile,
or a mammal?"

<licks lips and rubs chin>

"Cold-blooded,
warm-hearted?"

<grips knee with left hand>

"When smelling a blooded roast beef...
...do you get hungry and share?"

"Or do you eat the guests first?"

<holding long-blade carving knife>

"You see, I like to think that you're both bugs, that you bug me and neither of you have any power what with my holding this weapon?"

<waves knife around erratically>

"Also, I don't like sharing..."

I only throw
my banana
at Chel-Sea

I only throw
my banana
at Chelsea

I only throw
my banana
at Chel-sea

Eiliv Advena Sep 2017
Help me, please!
Become a patron
Or I will most likely
never see the dawn

https://www.patreon.com/EilivAdvena
We all stand together, united
We all stand together, empowered
We all stand together, ambitious

We all stand together, divided
We all stand together, separated
We all stand together, insensitive

We all stand together in the same world that contains excessive wealth and neverending poverty.

Where is the balance?
Bibek Aug 2017
A comfortable bed, with the fine touch of feathers,

The warmth of heaven, where my body would meander,

I could dream of anything, anything at all
Of beauty, of lust, of bliss, of all
Of happiness I have always wanted to clasp
But with these worn-out hands, povery is all I can grasp

I can dream of nature, that is wishing to pass through me
Of the tying clouds, with each turn turning gloomy

My hands can wrap over all of the flowers
Each of their petal, with my touch in delight
But with my shattered eyes, all I can give them is fright

Only in my sleep, I become a dreamer
While I am awake, I feel worse than the reaper

My scent disgusts even the winds
That break upon me
Like my shattered dreams

And though my dreams and my comforts are all in a nap
The stale street and its cold is all I can have
A poem on poverty and a person's resentment over his conditions
What the society thinks of him and what he thinks of himself
CC Aug 2017
I smell the faint smell of the sampaguita sold to my father
It makes me think about the poor
Whenever we buy this chain of white flowers it is a bookmark in the senses
Poverty
Remember poverty
Smell the pleasantness in your automobile and don't forget poverty.
Who sold it to you? A homeless child.
"It comes from a place I know not where it came from, I forgot"
A life made of lies
We buy this truth but live a lie
We are not happy about the situation
We are not happy that we are happy and they are in shambles
When it rains we praise the clean billboards of the aftermath
But poverty, is not washed or clean
I am not sure what to do with this poverty of kindness
I m lacking in kindliness and gentleness
So what can there be to give to a poor child?
I desire to live benevolently
Desire does not mean I am so
But to desire makes me righteous toward the bad
And hopeful too
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