REALITY |Poem|

REALITY

Image credit: https//.image_searchman.1559.com

When reality hits that makes widow eye weep.

All she do is face away and cry,

Can't stand nor rise, just deep sad inside,

Hear not seem be better by morning.
So is reality still longer what is hurt.

Nobody sees what's actually wrong,

Girls at middle school and all this pressure,

Getting abused and being called a mong,
Have put on black and loving mourners
Looking with pretty ruth upon your pain.

All the sweet tones she listens
Forthwith deep into a tear.
That on herself such murderous pain commits.

The world will be her window, and still weep

Then will swear beauty herself is black.
You have seen roses damask'd, white and red
The mistress reality are nothing like the sun.

And were once kind unfriends now,

Even, commits herself who have lived for crime,
Or have not seen dwellers on form and favour
Lose all, and more by paying too much pains

Friends are leaving and moving on,
And weeping and sorrow are still her night.

Look, what reality cannot shine
Commit to these waste blanks and constantly cry,
Weep to have that which it fear to lose
But see no way out but die,

What's the point living in a lie?
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me as ransom of pain being payed.

That in black ink her pain shall still shine no longer,
Painting her age with beauty of pains,
Her pain shall in these black lines be defaced.
If all were minded so, the time should cease,
And they sing shall live, and she in them still green.

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Grief |Poem|

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The dead don't die

She was burning your garbage, her sari caught fire and she died. He was cleaning your manhole, a pipe burst and he died. She didn't receive he wages, she hung herself and she died. He was wading through the drain, he inhaled poisonous gases and he died. Remember. The dead don't die. When the media turns a blind ear, And the state is unaccountable, When there is no money to send his body back home, and the public is indifferent, when his family is not given any jobs, And the city lives on in oblivion, Remember. The dead don't die. As you build your new house, carelessly discared your waste, As you choose your blinders And preach your progress, Remember, The dead don't die. And when you constructy your walls, And lock your gates, When you look paste the filth, And praise the state, Remember. The dead don't die. *This obituary is dedicated to the undocumented and unreported death of waste pickers, sweepers and manual scaveng...

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