The ragged poor in front of my eyes: sometimes so poor
The ragged rich in front of my eyes, sometimes so rich
The pitiful poor are so helpless in their misery
So miserably poor, fear fills the belly
Fear in the jutting bellies, fear is no luxury for the poor.
Empty bellies have their own logic of survival.
But in this world of egos and inhumanity
The rich have more than plenty
So much that sometimes they are empty
Sometimes they look as though they have nothing at all.
Then why do they act poor? Poorly unconvincing that is
Wear tattered clothing, turn night into day
Marriage isn’t a necessity
But they have the biggest and best.
The poor it seems are rich with spiritual integrity
That’s what the rich say
Do they know how many farmers put an end to their lives
Just because of loans and their strifes?
But they wouldn’t know, would they
The answers to the non-existence of the
Psychopathology of the conditions of survival and depression
Of the fundamentally deprived impoverished
Indigenous populations through generations of privation.
The rich should know better than to flaunt their silly faces
All re-done, tucked in and chiseled
Winning, grinning, sinning
They should know better than to flaunt their silly bags
Made from some poor reptile’s skin
They’ll know when the reptiles finally get ‘em.
Who is the reptile then? Is it a sin to be rich?
Reptile’s skin, plumped up lips, and photographed
Taking Asian or African orphans in their arms
Shedding crocodile’s tears, jumping onto a plane
Party sniffing until the next one.
Oh vanity and botox-filled dreams
Life is never what it seems
One day the poor will be rich and then
The whole cycle will start again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.