The Sound Of Poverty In My Country Poem by RIC BASTASA

Whooping cough
From morning till night

There are only herbs
Some leaves of grass

Soaked in water
Inside a tin cup

That is prescribed to be taken
as Medicine

The sound is reverberating
Throughout the town

And no one seems to mind
What to do about it

It cannot be stopped
The people simply wait

For another wailing sound
Someone bedridden

Just passed away
Another cough is on the way

Today and it will be
From morning till night

And as usual the people just wait
There is nothing that can be done about it


as the sounds of poverty reverberate
throughout the country with nothing but faith