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Poems On / About POVERTY  12/18/2014 6:24:16 AM
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Best Poems About / On POVERTY
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A Window Into The World

The crow flaps its dark wings up there,
hungryor death,
and the dark opened its mouth down there,
hungry for poverty.
Both are permanent visitors on 134th street,
the street of my childhood,
where I returned to after fifty years of straying.
Nothing has changed,
apart from the poverty
which became bigger and darker.
The orphanage is still in the same place
where I used to daydream of the outside world
for hours, days and months on an end I used to stand by the window,
shyly stealing smiles from other kids
who cheerfully jumped around their parents,
dreaming that someday I might hold a child by their hand,
and walk far away from the orphanage.
But that world,
the world I used to watch with so much desire
through the little hole of poverty,
became even colder, lonelier and darker than the orphanage to me.
Yes, Lord, I admit to this standing next to the old orphanage's window,
from my dear and sad sight of the world,
that I am coming home poorer and lonelier,
much sadder and poorer
than I was back in my childhood,
because back then I was rich with youth and hope,
and now I am so hopelessly old and lonely.
I am looking at my old orphanage,
and Patrick's reverberant voice crosses my mind,
Patrick who is long since reading his dear little poems
to angels in white heavenly fields.
When I used to stray the dark streets of the world,
the memory of his precious and clear eyes
was my lighthouse,
and now I am left without youth and friends,
hopelessly old and lonely,
in the company of crows, darkness and poverty.
While I am standing at my little sight of the world,
the wind is carrying around the cigarette ember
along the street of my childhood,
leaving behind a fiery trail for my poverty,
and the old orphanage window,
my small sight of the world,
is creaking like the bones of an old homeless man,
as if it arrived at its end too.
I wonder how many views that old window had provided,
and how many gazes and scorn it withstood?
My old window into the world squeaked again,
and now I know that it is time for me to venture into the dark,
to return into the world,
because my old window
is providing a new hope and new view of the world
to a new resident of the orphanage now.
Walter William Safar

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No Access To Fast Food, Branded Clothes And

The creation of nations,
that have passion,
for money and power,
is the absolute poverty.

Not having the access,
to shelter, food and clothing,
to have a healthy living.

Fifteen percent Americans,
fall under poverty line,
and they earn,
less than,
ONLY 22K American dollar,
per year.

In other parts of the world,
people live,
in appropriate poverty,
and they live on,
2 dollars a day,
six hundred dollars a year,
five people can eat,
have shelter and simple clothing,
still they are healthy.
slim and fit.

Europeans are clever,
to make the people to believe,
that they are poor,
earning only 800 Euro a month,
Which is above,
the average annual income,
of many developing nations,
where people have,
no access to any wealth and health.

All of us stay in the same earth,
but the value of properties,
and the rental acquired,
through the properties,
differ substantially.
Politicians of the poor nations,
have abysmal knowledge on economics.
To be a rich nation,
we should have values,
but these clowns are short sighted,
to look at the value,
of their own properties!

Do not say that they are poor,
because the term poor itself,
will be ashamed,
for using its credibility,
for wrong purpose.

Please do not call them poor,
when the nations are able to provide them,
the food, shelter and health care.
Find a suitable word,
and leave the poor alone,
who have no access,
to any of these comforts on their own,
and their nations,
are unable to provide them,
the access to the comfort.

Reason for writing this poem.

The feelings of the poor are the same through out the world, irrespective of the countries that they are staying, but the proper definition for poverty should be clarified before classifying the people as poor, which means the poor of one country may be considered as the rich in another country. Then what is the real meaning for poverty?
veeraiyah subbulakshmi

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if you really felt sorry

Don't just repeat POVERTY tirelessly and then feel
remorseful; pathetically nodding your head; as if the
most unassailable messiah of bereaved humanity,
If you really felt sorry from the bottom of your
heart; then vanquish it forever from its very
non-existent roots; and from even the most
infinitesimal corner of the pompously rigid society…..
Don't just spell POVERTY incessantly and then feel
regretful; lugubriously crossing your fingers; as if
all mercy had wholesomely disappeared from the
trajectory of this colossal planet,
If you really felt sorry from the bottom of your
heart; then unflinchingly surge forward to scrap even
the most inconspicuous of its essence from this
fathomless Universe; philanthropically mitigate all
organism alive from its devastating stranglehold….
Don't just visualize POVERTY indefatigably and then
feel destroyed; uncontrollably wailing like a
scarecrow umpteenth number of times in a single
If you really felt sorry from the bottom of your
heart; then extricate it for times immemorial with the
sparkling righteousness in your soul; enveloping even
the most fugitively capricious speck of this globe
with a wave of eternally resplendent compassion….
Don't just witness POVERTY intransigently and then
feel gruesomely assassinated; nonchalantly sniffing
your nose towards the heavens to put the entire blame
upon Lord Almighty,
If you really felt sorry from the bottom of your
heart; then behead it for infinite more births yet to
unveil with the religion of humanity enshrouding your
conscience; ubiquitously disseminate your happiness to
all those unfortunately hapless and deprived….
Don't just whisper POVERTY unrelentingly and then feel
like threadbare shit; abominably puking out even the
last morsel of food from your languidly churning
If you really felt sorry from the bottom of your
heart; then drive it away with the Omnisciently
sacrosanct shadow of truth; ingratiatingly share the
woes and overwhelming trauma of your counterparts and
alien; beautifully alike…..
Don't just memorize the spelling of POVERTY
incorrigibly to appear for the examinations; and then
feel like an infinitesimally sinful debris of ghoulish
If you really felt sorry from the bottom of your
heart; then perpetually substitute it with benign love
and care; inundating each arena of this insurmountably
gigantic Universe with an ocean of celestially
humanitarian empathy….
Don't just reminisce POVERTY insatiably and then feel
exonerated; collapsing like a frigid matchstick
towards obdurate ground; with your head timidly sunk
like a dastardly rat between your legs,
If you really felt sorry from the bottom of your
heart; then patriotically blaze ahead in the truly
scintillating spirit of mankind; diffusing the melody
of symbiotic existence on every step that you
holistically transgressed…..
Don't just cry POVERTY endlessly and then feel like
the demons rotting in coffins of crucified hell;
eventually dissolving like a chunk of soggy pulp into
your own disappearing shadow,
If you really felt sorry from the bottom of your
heart; then hoist every uncouthly trembling entity
upon your splendidly benevolent shoulders;
Omnipotently enveloping the every trace of coldblooded
savagery with the ointment of passionate love…..
And don't just write POVERTY timelessly and then feel
like the most hapless livid entity alive; trying to
mercilessly chop your own foot when infact there
wasn't the slightest trace of axe around,
If you really felt sorry from the bottom of your
heart; then replenish its penuriously castigating
grave with an unfathomable river of love; enlightening
the life of every despicably beleaguered human with
the rays of godly mankind.
Nikhil Parekh

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Turkana Is Not All About Poverty

Our mouth customs has gone beyond our control,
Every time we talk about Turkana nation,
We always goof to label it a den of poverty,
By failing to see the vice of human backlogs,
That has worked most to stultify human hopes
Down to a false pale that Turkana nation is all poverty.

A nation that arms its daughters and sons in entirety
With the vogue models of AK 47 and 74'S
Enjoying money worthiness to a whopping!
Media with which they brutally rustle neighbours' cows
Leaving them in forlorn cry like lame childlings
Such nation can't be labeled a poverty reference.

Nation in which a naked elder in a loincloths is matchlessly animal rich
Owning hundreds of Carmel and goats, sheep and cows in similar fold,
Enjoying pure sex in marriage with virgins, whose breast are sharply pointed,
Marrying them in pairs out of polygamous morality in the chriso-paganity,
Where each man is a king and each woman an akuju; Turkana goddess of beauty,
All youth confident of animal wealth, then it is total sphinx of no secrete
To label Turkana nation a land that is all about poverty.

Land of sand tunes fit for use in modern architecture,
Replete with deadly desert scorpions, watchdog against women stealer,
Diamonds and gold form its hills of Lapur and Pelekechi,
Its underground waters huge than masses of Indian Ocean,
Lake Turkana being deeper that Lake Tanganyika, full of Fish like helluva,
In the sunshine that generates solar power in fathomless units
Desert snakes jumping here and there in chase of Locusts,
On the seashores at Todanyang and Loewarang towns,
Antelopes there are foolish that they don't fear dogs
While chicken are condemned to be wild birds
For the Turkana don't eat birds lest they degrade in dignity
Foolishly calling such land to be example of poverty
Is like putting your economics education in higgledy-piggledy pose.

A turkana woman is a beautiful woman, indeed a paragon of femininity
Slender and narrow at the waist with a humongous bossom,
Her legs are sizeable and long, forming a curve between her thighs,
Her neck stands straight on her thorax, forming a shape of flag post,
Warm on touch and sensuous on each kiss, with her eyes full of compassion,
Her arms strong on each assignement, hence her gun management power,
She screams on an orgasm like the swine in a slaughter house,
Sending up the chills of gusto up the spine of the sex partner,
When in the apical realm of love at scenic Eliye Spring,
How can a nation full of such wonderfully virtuous daughters
Be declared in foolishness benchmark of poverty and human despair?

Walk tall Turkana, stand and walk tall, for you are the virgin of Africa
Your oil wells are gift of providence; it will put green foods on your table,
Walk to school and learn anything, learn the languages of the world,
Through which you will caution the lazy talkers of this country,
For them have labeled you as black sheep of the Kenyan family
When it's their folly and vicious governance
That has betrayed Turkana towards its destiny.
alexander opicho

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Poems On / About POVERTY