Born and bred in poverty
Ideas and plans have no identity
In all your vision you feel pity
Your dreams are always hefty
You hoble and fumble all days
No noble plans to park in your bay
Dry are your coffers
And no progress to all offers
Siblings have hated you
Circumstances unfavour you
Tried to brew and sell
Alas, there no hatching like a shell
Everything turned and hope flea
Wisdom dash in front and deaf to your plea
Opportunity and open gates are closes in a blink
A little money and little more stress kick
What are you, always in debt
What are you, always in tears
What are you, always rejected
Disfigured and hated
You mourn the day you were born
Dear...poverty is indeed a curse but we should also know that in poverty the man is nearest to god... With no distractions... Nice poem....thanks
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A nice poetic imagination, Ishmael. Thank you very much,