From The Voiceless, For The Voiceless Poem by Emmanuel Arunee Mwanza

From The Voiceless, For The Voiceless



They are dying
Slowly
They pay tax though
If we marry what they earn and the tax they pay:
They pay too much
But no one notices
Because they are voiceless
Even accountants don't see the ratios in relating to the tax
They never voice out
For they will never be heard
They die every day
Every day they are dying
They lie in hospitals without beds
They lie in beds without mattresses
They lie in mattresses without bedding
They lie in bedding that are in tatters
They lie in beds in tatters themselves
They lie there, in mourns
They lie there in pains
They lie in there, in hospitals without medicine
Yet tax taking is like a vast ocean with no end
Its impact fully felt
And they wait for their time to die
Just because they are the voiceless human beings

On the other hand

They are thriving
Slowly
They pay tax though
If we marry what they earn and the tax they pay
They pay too much too little
But no one notices
Because they are wealthy
Even accountants don't see the ratios in relating to the tax
They never voice out
For they are ever comfortable
They die every day
Every day they are dying but not like the voiceless
They lie in hospitals with beds
They lie in beds with good mattresses
They lie in good mattresses with bedding
They lie in nice bedding
They lie in beds fully themselves
They lie there, in mourns
They lie there in pains
They lie in there, in hospitals with medicine
Yet tax taking is like a vast ocean with no end
Just that the impact is too little for them to feel
And they wait for their time to die
Just because they are still human beings

We are trying
That's what we all hear
We are trying to fix things
Of which, in the end is a temporary solution
Healing the voiceless wounds partially if at all it heals their pains
The trying that does no good to those who need a medium to be heard
So this is for those
Voiceless

From the voiceless, for the voiceless
We are dying
We are sick in the hospitals
We are begging for food in the streets
We are hoping the so cold little tax we pay
To care for us in hospitals
Because, with what we earn, our tax is too high but we pay anyway
Because we are hoping,
That one day things will change
That one day,
We will all thrive and be comfortable
That one day we will all be seen
As equals,
And there will never be the voiceless for everybody will be heard despite the status
That one day
No child in the next generation shall write this again
For voiceless
From the voiceless, for the voiceless

Friday, February 17, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: life,poverty,voices,government
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