The Choice Is Ours Poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi

The face of the baby fat,
Chiseled with a knife of insufficient,
Nutrients, the witches are created,
From the hearts of the poor and dirt,
With protruding cheek bones,
The sunken eyes are dried and cobwebbed,
The perfect rosy lips lack their moisture,
To the cunning resurfacing economy,
Underneath the rubble of gravel and sand,
The conscience of men rest in petroleum products,
The river from their eyes never subsided,
The crying from their angry minds never heard,
The stomachs of emptiness, not yet filled,
With knowledge of sufficiency, the tibia and femur,
Are left to be dwarfed to fix them as the picture,
The skulls we are creating on our country side,
The rich wolves howl in the day light to propose,
To foxes in everyone’s mind, who want their share,
Of piece of meat, to hide under the blanket of sunlight,
What we have managed to hide in our life,
Are exposed the moment we take the last flight,
Why this injustice in the land of mortal,
Who think that they are immortal, next to the God,
The Gods are spared and have their good meal and look,
Gods are yet to be witched cosmetically,
Depriving all their truthful food of thoughts,
Witches are seen among the human,
Where poverty and ignorance of knowledge,
Persistently at work in open space and behind the door,
Where human races with his heart,
With visual and chemical contaminates,
What they think as the pleasure is the hardwork,
Done by the fist sized bionic machine,
That really feels the hurt and abuse,
To fulfill the evil desire behind the door,
To vibrate the neurons to escape to the space,
The body is under duress after every encounter,
Has to be over hauled if there is a chance,
Witches are there in all our hearts,
We can nurture them to rule our poor life,
Otherwise they can be silenced to have our life back.