The Poor

This poem is dedicated to the hopless paupers living in endless penury and tyranny of their counterparts.

Composed: Thu 25 Oct. At 11:50 AM

I see him with sunken eyes
Sunk in a flowing ocean of desperation
Befriending frustration and agony
Exposed in between thunder and lightning,
Brooding over the next hour's meal.

 Living in a dark deadly dungeon
Contained therein blood-suckers
With stinging and poisonous beasts
Stinging and sucking through his veins;
Trippled tribulations like a cripple tripping and falling with no foothold,
Like a ripple in water, uncertain,
Going no further on its path
Like Mars revolving on its axis,
I see the poor exiles from his burrow
After digging it for ages, then the tyrant comes and eject him at once, swapping him for endless jungles
I see the poor with broken bedrock, yearning for a cloth to cover his nude,
Behind his defeat by the vicious right-winger;

I see him, deprived of the pen and ink, then told of paper being hazardous to his afflicted lenses.
Placing anatomy in anachronistic form

He lays the binding blocks of pyramid,
But another comes and sit on the pinnacle
The founder below, the settler on top,
Oh! The poor, when will you be freed?