New World - Poem by Jahan zaib
A child on the shoulders of his father,
Watched the other kids with their bags to school,
Playing with their toys by the pool,
Shed tears and wished to be one of them,
The father went from man to man, street to street,
Signaling cars, gentility, with open hands,
Torn clothes, dirty face he stands,
Received nothing but ridiculing mass,
Who's responsible if his father is not rich?
The son, the father, we or democracy?
God, his angels, nature, or prophecy?
His eyes bleeding, his father's pleading,
Who will answer this little child's question?
Waiting am I for any suggestion.
Comments about New World by Jahan zaib
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You