literature

Poverty

Deviation Actions

Shamziel's avatar
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Published:
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Literature Text

It is Sunday, and a girl is dying.

You must have seen her, with cracked hands
And cheeks as hollow as her eyes, staring defiantly
At every person that passes her without a glance.

She thinks they must be able to smell it on her:
The bitter tang of metals and grit in her water
And the faint but penetrating scent of sickness.

She sells candies and paper flowers from a cart,
And stands up straight with her dress hanging
Like a sack, though it was a lovely yellow once.

Every so often as she passes her wares to a buyer,
She thinks that the petals and colorful wrappers
Look like wishes should; but she cannot have them.

She must always return to the same cramped room
And dream fitfully of fresh food, health, and comfort
While life pales from her face, like the waxing moon.

One cannot live on bread alone,
But that would be a start.
I read recently that Mohandas Ghandi's son was a leading member of a political movement that made sterilization mandatory for part of India's poorest population. Very few people protested this - and why would they? How could they stand to bring children into the world, only to watch die from the same things they were dying from?

This poem is for those people, and for all the people who suffer from lack of resources that others refuse to share.
© 2009 - 2024 Shamziel
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