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Poems On / About POVERTY  7/24/2016 3:21:52 PM
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Best Poems About / On POVERTY
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Rousseau Goes Zen

Give me back my poverty
Said Jean Jacques drifting through the trees
Possessions are not liberty
Give me back my poverty
This myth of private property
Will bring the species to its knees
Give me back my poverty
Said Jean Jacques drifting through the trees
M Barton

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My Second Trip To Mexico City, September Of 2000

Being my second trip to Mexico City. It attracts me compellingly and convincingly. I don’t know what kind of magnetic power it has over me. I feel it calling my soul. Is it a magical voice? Could it be a change of scenery? The people? Humbleness? Work Ethics? The food? The women? I feel that, I am attracted to a whole different world. I can always use a fresh environment. Mexico City, is full of poverty, history richness, That I could ever imagined. Here everybody is scrapping for a peso. So many people hustling out there in ‘el metro’ That is crazy to the point. People are just selling just about everything; From a crayon, sandals, to a pair of batteries. Mexican people, really are hardworking Mexican’s. Unfortunately, the poverty level is low, That little children are put on the streets selling goods. Education is not a priority, but money sure is its livelihood. The extra peso makes all the difference in the world. Through the eyes of an child’s, I read volumes of their pains and loss, I can only cry within and say: ‘Oh God why? , ‘Why them? ’ ‘Why so much poverty? ’ Why the children? Why the elderly? I ask so many analytical questions I don’t seem to find adequate answers to any of them. I try giving them my best smiles. It seems like a path of extreme miles. I try giving them food. I try to do all I can. I once invited an elderly grandmother and her small granddaughter named Selena To my hotel room, so they could take their shower. They had a little puppy with them. All three of them took showers. They left my hotel bathroom filthy, but I didn’t care. I just could bare the sight of dirtiness. My heart was full of joy and content ness. Afterwards, I bought like 10 tortillas with chopped chicken. Soon, they left and kept walking to the directions I got them from. Next day, I was looking for them to see if they wanted to have lunch with me, But I was saddened to search for hours without any stroke of luck. I know, I can’t save the world, I can’t stop children from being hungry, Or stopped them from crying, but at least I try making a difference. Leaving a stamp in someone’s soul is what life is all about. Leaving a positive mark in someone’s soul is the best gift you can ever give. Value, fairness, understanding, sharing one’s blessings is the ultimate Giving what we should all be doing in our existence.
Dan Quiles

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The Laborer

In the sizzling heat of the afternoon
Clothes drenched and shoes filled with sweat
Last nights long shift makes the body ache
In growing age when the muscle is the only strength
The will like faith growing stronger with each passing day
A disease knocking at the visceral parts of the body
Joints now like the hinges in the machine need oil
Moved in hundreds and like all others
Away from the family and the little ones memory
A letter from the home in need of money
For the doctor’s fee as education is forlorn desire
Minimum wage half robbed by the supervisor
And like a true competition in economics
Out on the metal gates a replacement is waiting
Alienated from the production of the product
Creating surplus for the consumption of the rich
His toils are in the shine of the markets in goods glittering
Unaware of the political upheaval
No care for his welfare
He has no future; his children will also work like him
The power of the muscle, will and faith
He is a laborer who if not given the job
Will go for a daily wage and sleep on the road side
Poverty is his bread, poverty his butter
Poverty that alienates
Poverty the missing link
Poverty the slogan
Poverty it said is loved by the prophets
Poverty it said is gods chosen creed
Poverty the banner
Poverty the tears
Poverty the helplessness
Poverty the consciousness
Break it free
The ordained writing on the book of fate
To bring it down
Open its pages
Remove the names
Of all the people poor
Break it free
The pages they call divine
For divinity is me
Divinity is you
For I shall write
My own destiny
On the book of fate
Up from the skies
Down to the earth
In poverty I will live
But on my own choosing
Break the bond
Of eternal slavery
Thou art the bitterest vice
Sadiqullah Khan

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Poverty. He wants me.
He infects me like HIV.
Like a cancer of the soul,
Of which I can't let go.

Poverty. He rapes me.
He comes into my heart.
He thrusts at me so hard,
That my frail body falls apart.

Poverty. He chains me.
He locks me in a bedsit.
He forces me to suck it
And throws up in my bucket.

Poverty. He fines me,
'Cause I haven't got enough
And he thinks I like it rough,
And he doesn't give a f*ck.

Poverty...Assaults me.
He's mugged me for my body,
And my mind he's taken from me
And he leaves his seed upon me.

Poverty. He kills me.
I couldn't eat the pain.
I couldn't feast away
The shadow of that name:

Sydney La Roche

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Poems On / About POVERTY