A Symbol Of Poverty Poem by Timothy Faboade

They shoulder all the world's woes,
They are the symbols of pains,
They reflect from their heads to toes,
Suffering and penury in plain.
They beg for bread from their Mother
That caters for the few others
Who are in contrast with the ones
Whose feeble hopes are gone!

Their convoys are the teeming flies
That have a fiesta where they lie
Like withered, pested leaves,
They curl with their heavy griefs
Hovering on their heads are vultures
Waiting patiently for their fleshes
That have no desirable futures
Unlike others' that are ever fresh.

The rickety bridges offer shades
To their skins that have already faded,
Every night they roost on the floor
And put their sorrows for that day on shore.

Barred from schools, they litter the streets
Begging the lucky ones in the assorted fleets
For their daily meals in the sun and rain,
And the few treat them holy disdain.

Their tattered rags in the unfriendly winds
Billow to film their peeping bones,
They sing with melancholic tones,
Yet to them the few are never kind.
Some have foods with many Seals
Queuing to get the ephemeral gifts
And tomorrow when the present shifts
They hope to get from another Seal, meals.

Give these innocent ones a new life
Their tears beg for pure clemency,
Perhaps they've erred in this Life
Where they should life in decency.

They on the streets struggle with dogs,
Famished goats for rotten breads
Flung into the bins and filthy bogs,
Their lives have already shown Red!

Give them knowledge and Book,
Part them from the poverty's hook,
Give them fortunate souls
And cover their sun-burnt soles.