Hunger why you trouble me again,
see I have no penny to buy even a grain!
My body doesn’t ache now, nor it pains,
distant are the sounds of those passing trains.
My eyes will never weave a newer dream,
‘cause the last time I woke up in a scream.
My hands will never hold a fountain pen,
millions of them have lost to swords just ten.
My legs will never run a second race,
‘cause I can’t see with blood on my face.
What do I do now my pile of books?
How can I write with my flesh on the hooks?
This road has bumps and ups and downs,
and blisters have said no to any new wounds.
Money always rules and poverty serves,
I sweat my blood out but who observes?
Hunger will you trouble me again?
Still I have no penny to buy even a grain.
My body doesn’t bleed now, just it pains,
and tomorrow I’ll be tied to heavier chains!
1 comment:
Good, but sad, poem.
Thanks,
Scott Hughes
Hunger & Poverty Forums
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