Monday, 6 July 2015

FRAGMENTS OF POOR HEARTS

FROM THE BROKEN HUTS TO SQUALOR PATHS,
THE SOUND OF POOR CRY HITS ME.
FROM GENERATION TO GENERATION, FROM CALENDAR TO CALENDAR,
THE PROMISES TO REVERSE IT FADES AWAY LIKE A MIRAGE.
BEING LESS AWARE ABOUT THE POLITICS,
HE BURNS HIMSELF BEHIND THE CHARCOAL AND,
HURTLING VANS DOWN THE STREET.
HE KILLS HIS DREAMS, BUILDS FOUNDATIONS ON CLOUDS,
HOLDS HANDS WITH RED DROPS.
BEING LESS AWARE ABOUT SOCIETY,
HE CRIES OUT LOUD,
STEALS TO FEED THE OTHER DEPENDED STOMACHS.
BUT, GETS A CERTIFICATE OF BURIED DREAMS.
BUT, THE SUN WILL RISE, THE DARK FOG WILL WASH AWAY,
THE NEW HILLS WILL BOW AND SAY,
"YOU THE CREATOR OF HUMAN DREAMS ",
"THE WORLD GREETS YOU TO BE A SELFISH PHILANTHROPE".
THE ROADS WILL LEAD TO DEVELOPMENT,
THE POOR WILL BUILD THEIR MONUMENTS.
ONE WILL BE THERE TO LEAD THEM, TO GUIDE THEM.
THE HISTORY OF SLAVERY AND THE REPORT OF POVERTY,
THE BREAD OF GOD, THE BLACK WALLS, WILL WASH AWAY.
THE GLOBE WILL CHANGE THE PHASE,
THE EXPLOITATION WILL HIT THE RACE,
THE BURNS WILL BURN THE MESS.
THE SCARS WILL BUILD THE ROAD,
THE BURNS WILL BE CURED,
THE TURNS WILL SHOW THE LIGHT,
THE POOR WILL STAND TO FIGHT FOR THEIR RIGHT.
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