face of poverty..

Accompanying the songs of woes,
And the scintillating lines of loses,
My ill-fated mother gifted me to the world,
Same day before one year...
And today is not my birthday,
But my mother’s death anniversary,
From hands to hands, I am here now,
I never knew the taste of milk,
Neither the satisfaction of my little belly,
I wept for months in the womb of poverty,
Oh Lord, my laments are reaching unto you I know,
And my sorrowing snuffles of dearth are seen by you,
But why are you unvoiced to my miseries,
My tiny fingers are like worms now,
And my chubby fair skin is wrinkled like an old lady,
And my abdomen is empty and starving for a bit of food,
May be these are the final instants of my elongated famished life,
While I die for a speck of provisions,
The humanity is after the luxurious assets of world,
Without ever realizing their weapons of war
Pierce into the hearts of these poor souls…