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Poems On / About POVERTY  5/24/2016 10:44:10 AM
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  197.     

Ghost Of Poverty

Ghost,
Of poverty.
Sits upon a dusk chair,
Secluded as a forgotten smile.
Secluded as the pale rose,
Beneath the dusk chair of,
Poverties Ghost.
Where words,
Never,
Leave the seclusion of their, own tuneful misery.
 
GuyAdler Dorelien

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  198.     

Mama; S Sacriffice

MAMA’S SACRIFICE
There are times I look deep into the mist of my soul, I get scared, It’s me the homeless guy sleeping in the far Shaws of the city, Admiring the beauty of nature
No one seems to care or bothered if I had something to fill the stomach grumblings or a blanket on my back to protect me from the cold, There are times like these when ones voice is no longer heard and he has no choice but to give up all hope, for no one shows love since the death of the pope. But can one like me say I’m stranded in this world filled with poverty, am I suppose to throw the towel? Is it over?
I reminisce but just a few years back me and mama living in a tiny one room, a room dilapated and cold, worrying that any minute someone might attack; it was then that my black nose got the smell, the brutal scent of the wicked rose
Mama a woman dedicated to see me smile
Woke up every morning and walked a mile
Just to see her baby boy had something to eat every night like those kids with everything, I was just a mere little boy with no care in the world, but mama made sure that I always had the biggest toy
I will give my life to the women who gave me life, stand in front of a truck and die, just to see mama on track, tell me if I’m wrong when I want make everything in her life so right
Mama another women who even today lives in a struggle, mama another women who still hasn’t seen the twinkle of joy, mama a women that’s a victim of poverty, mama a women I wish she could own her own property, she froze in winter just to see me warm, sacrificed her life in the streets to keep me out of harm, and if ever a lady should shine on my arm, it would have to be mama, a true lady with no drama, even if I should marry some day, mama will always be the one to get my pay, mama my role model the boss of my heart, mama and I no one will come in-between, mama my black queen.
 
luvuyo gqamane

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  199.     

Poverty

Poverty is like a curse
It deprived Prophet Jesus
Of a wife and popularity

Prophet Muhammad
Became successful
Because he became rich

Poverty is like a torture
By the enemy
Without help from others
One cannot get rid of it
 
Asif Andalib

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  200.     

Remember Her...

When i no longer remember me will you remember 2 remember when the world has scribbled scars upon mine face that cut deep inside my soulless soul used and crushed my dreams before my own eyes and then threw me like trash will you remember to remember a girl driven to desparations by pains and poverties beyond me stripping me off my dignity till i lose my own sanity till my mind i cannot think my heart i can no longer feel a beggar begging the world for my survival will you remember to remember when the world no longer remembers me buried my soul amongst the soil and dust when im like dirt under the soles of your feet Mama will you remember to remember your baby when i no longer remember that little girl trapped in her shadows and have long forgotten my ways back home when with every breath i take i shake and crumble back to the ground that gave birth to me embraced me and sang me lullabies to comfort me and wipe away the tears in my eyes as i catch a glimpse of my shattered face tears pouring down and i no longer remember will you remember to remember remember her
 
Phatheka 'Sweet Blaq Rose' Azania

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Poems On / About POVERTY