Plight of the poor












Can still smile in poverty
Without a root - no property,
no hand to rest the head
voices better dead
With uncomfortable boxes to tick
Serving the slave with a stick
No one understands our plight


Rather, we are robbed of our rights
While people chase their dreams,
our intestinal streams
help us to invest
all our daily harvest.
The feed we are able
to set our table
are remnants meant for dogs
to scale with flies and frogs
Our burdens feed our baskets
as we chase our caskets
life’s punches we endure,
all the pill in the world can not cure
so we allow the smile
To walk our faceless faces far awhile

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