The Daughter Of Eve Poem by Muhammad Shanazar

Who sorts out scraps of sustenance,
Bending upon the hump of smelly trash,
And picks up the sucked eaten bones,
Stuffs them into spacious juty sack,
Hanging down upon her back,
Or sometimes drags behind toiling,
The load of life, out of breath?

Bare-footed, wearing smeared clothes,
Knotty hair, unwashed since birth,
Has baby kind three years old,
Resembling mother in gait and form,
Half dressed, the thumb in mouth,
Standing among the black crows,
Feeding upon the garbage scattered,
Along the roadside, she wondering looks,
At the running mindless blind beasts,
Speedily pass with the swishing sounds,
And across the road at high mansions,
Shining, painted glaring white,
Where from peep out sophisticated couples,
And children with blighted rosy faces,

The erect spectrum of pestilent radiance,
Provokes more in the stifled hearts,
Scornful pangs of the burning blotches,
The disdained despised daughter of Eve,
Forlorn in thoughts perhaps thinks,
That fate might have committed an error,
Placing her on the wrong side of the road.