From Dust - Poem by clifford mate
Break my heart,
Tear it apart,
Call my home a slum,
But that doesn't define who I am.
Yes my house is made of mud,
My neighbours are drunkards and sluts,
But they work hard,
To keep the wheels of life moving.
Liters and bins,
Describe this place I live,
Stench smell from the heap,
Perhaps someone's meal,
Drove you away from me.
It is fine,
Go on and marry that rich guy,
If he is the love of your life,
Clearly we were worlds apart,
Motivate me more to move out,
One day you will see me fly.
From this slums a doctor will rise,
A philosopher who knows no tribe,
A judge who can't be bribed,
Even gold and diamond are dug from dirt,
But are worn by those in the highest ranks,
Through this pain I will rise,
Was born here in the slums,
Will die there in that mansion.
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