Poverty's Reply To Royalty Poem by lalitha iyer

My Lord,
I am ugly,
yet, my heart is sweet
I am dirty
yet, my thoughts neat
I live in a street
but I don't retreat
my bed is in shreds
but I dont suffer asleep
with strangers who need
one for this night
one for the next
I live in scatters
yet my air is natural
my man I shall bed with
his arms my garland be
be him a beggar
yet, our dreams shall castles
build in the atmosphere
which rains for us too
and pains though I undergo
but parent not kid
whoes father's name he knows not
As an honest maid
in genuine love
I invite you to my streets
and activate your muscles
and work like a man
just a man you should be
honestly sweat
for all you eat
and marry in modesty
and then come to my bed
which is in the shreds
among the carbage feds..