Standing by a traffic stop
Scratching at his lice filled hair,
Glancing at the traffic cop
Ragged clothes and shoulders bare.
Baksheesh was his constant cry
Tapping on each window pane,
Not much cash, but have to try
Avoid the bashing and the pain.
From his owner’s greedy hand
Gets some shelter, little food,
Pressed in with this beggar band
Syndicate’s this captive brood!
Rural children on the run
Came to city hope held high
Told that city lot of fun,
Now they wish that they could die.
Syndicate of cruel men
Groom these children for their trade,
Some disfigured, only then
Maximize the money made.
Set a goal for each new day
Money payment for their keep,
Find and beat them if they stray,
From exploitation money reap
Such their life till early die
City streets their only fare
Hear no sympathetic cry
Most have other things to care.
© Copyright Ian Grice,
ianscyberspace 2018 All rights reserved
The above image is the property of asianworldnews.co.uk
“Hear no sympathetic cry” so very real/ sad. Very well said, Ian.
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Thanks so much for your comment Damyanti. 🙂
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A sad story, well told Ian. Empathy is a rare thing in our world today.
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It’s a sad world we live in Madhu. The best we can do is to try and be a help and ray of sunshine to the people around us.
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Thank you for this sweet poem about a cruel reality.
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The cruel part is that if they were not exploited they would die from lack of any food. We live in a sick world where there is enough wealth to share around and save much of humanity. The reality is that Communism that guaranteed equal distribution of food failed miserably. It made everyone poor except a select few. At least capitalism and democracy provides taxes to address some of the needs in a democratic country but while humanity remains selfish as a basic trait that’s the best we can come up with.
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So sad the plight of some children. I am listening to a book written by Fredrick Douglas who was once a slave. He wrote that the owners who professed Christianity beat their slaves the hardest. It was interesting to read their “proof” texts for beating and depriving their slave of dignity.
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I don’t know how people who profess a religious experience can live with themselves when they mistreat others. They will not be welcomed into that Better Land even though they profess to want that when they die.
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I did not click the like button sweet Ian because the content of the poem is sad. The poem is very well written though and I do like that. The content brought back many memories of some children I cared for. Most people have no idea what some children of the world go through. It is so heartbreaking and I wish I could make it all better for every one of them. Keep writing my friend, people need to hear what you write about. Hugs
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My parents took in every wounded young person and tried to improved their lives, some responded and made something of their lives and some didn’t. They’d been too damaged in their early years. My mother in law, like you, took in dozens of foster babies in her time and gave them the love they were missing out on.
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That is wonderful, bless them. We do what we can but ultimately it is up to the person as adults what they choose to do with their lives.
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We need to care x
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We who have much see the underprivileged but do we really see their need and care about it.
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Empathy linked to direct action, you can’t beat it. Hugs for you Ian. xXx
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We do have to train ourselves to see what is happening around us instead of being egocentric don’t we? Only then can we develop empathy.
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The reality of life on the streets for hundreds of thousands of children. Many of the children had been sold by poverty stricken parents to “nice aunties and uncles”; others simply kidnapped.
And you’re right, Ian, to tug at heart strings and purses, many of the these children are brutally crippled.
A blight on society.
Peace,
Eric
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Eric I’ll never forget the crippling of children in order to gain more sympathy and hopefully money. The flip side of that is I’ve seen an older beggar who was able to contort to appear as if he’d been maimed and he looked so pathetic one wanted to give him something. Then we came across him in a main city bazaar looking quite normal. He’d contort when he saw someone coming who looked like they may be sympathetic and have money to spend. That made me cynical for a while, but I got over it.
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This poem transported me back into The days of Oliver Twist. Loved it.
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Thank you Barb. I guess I’ve seen enough of it in my travels to have it haunt me for the rest of my life.
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