When We of Poverty, Where Next?

 

 

 

We’re watching the celebrities,

Watching the celebrities for the

Celebrated life we never have,

And if lo, they fall by grace,

We’re on their back, on their back

As minions - who purchase every prop,

And living isn’t easy when you’re poor,

The famous are so expensive

And poverty, is raw!

 

 

I see all of this, and walking around -

An injured soul I’m caught within the A & E,

And I feel what ails us all as

Each casualty comes through expectant doors,

And I feel upon my body the wounds that

Bleed each human,

Each living soul that bare this tragedy of fragility –

And yet, so harsh we do exist.

 

 

I walk home,

Trying to remember nature while

Buildings of graffiti escort the journey

Taken all alone;

Asend and Ultra-vibe pumping ghetto tunes

In earphones sello-taped to ears to try

And drown the noise of metallic drones

Passing by,

Each driver silhouettes against a backdrop

Of ambience, and the wind utters temperatures

To freeze,

And this of a meek failing man who

Cannot hail a taxi for the lack of pennies,

Thrusts lumps of meat – hands without

Gloves, deep inside my coat,

And I wonder, where upon this universe

Is the greatest celebrity of All,

As faint upon the ringing in my lobes

Another tragedy, another poorest nation

Stretches in their throngs.

 

 

On hands and knees,

On hands and knees – I wonder,

How many Bangladesh,

How many of Tsunami,

How many of Haiti before the greatest wakes?

Why is it, to raise the poorest of those

For  little choice but death?

Has he whom we all hail forsaken those

That for all intentions, find

Life the hardest in scraping

Ways upon existence?

Does he feel their pain?

Does he tremble as each Life

Ceases on its being?

Through burning,

Drowning, famine bullet holes or

Crush!

Does he feel each passing like I – once upon

A ward where elderly wonder,

Try within their failing minds to conjure,

Their life that once was full of awe?

 

 

Where is our celebrity that each and every

Loved one begs the presence of?

 

 

Outstretched in Haiti,

The latest of the poorest peoples

Are once again upon the floor,

And if this be teaching just to claim

Your power and respect,

Then my tears are streaking while

I’m screaming for each and every,

Unnecessary death,

And I ask Dear Lord,

“What kind of,

What kind of,

What kind of World,

Are we living in?”

 

 

Michael J Waite 14^thJanuary 2010.