Treasure Island

Jahan zaib

(February 05,1981 / Malakand Pakistan)

New World


A child on the shoulders of his father,
Watched the other kids with their bags to school,
Playing with their toys by the pool,
Shed tears and wished to be one of them,
The father went from man to man, street to street,
Signaling cars, gentility, with open hands,
Torn clothes, dirty face he stands,
Received nothing but ridiculing mass,
Who's responsible if his father is not rich?
The son, the father, we or democracy?
God, his angels, nature, or prophecy?
His eyes bleeding, his father's pleading,
Who will answer this little child's question?
Waiting am I for any suggestion.

Submitted: Sunday, May 06, 2012

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  • Heyyou Boy (11/1/2012 10:36:00 AM)

    This poem is so very true. Who does decide who will have and who will have not? (Report) Reply

  • Stevie Taite (10/18/2012 11:56:00 AM)

    How indeed to we put and end to poverty like this? Your pen reminds us of the inequality, and it just seems all the sader and crueler when seeing it from the childs perspective. You paint your picture well! (Report) Reply

  • Farah Ilyas (5/23/2012 10:46:00 AM)

    u described ur views in such a moving & tragic manner that my eyes r forced to weep, really have a deep meaning & message inside, Zaib u r bestowed with a golden heart, waiting for ur more poems...welll done (Report) Reply

  • Kevin Halls (5/19/2012 9:20:00 AM)

    A great poem on a question that isn't easy to answer. But like Val says if you've got love your rich but without the wealth. Well written Jahan. (Report) Reply

  • Valerie Dohren (5/18/2012 3:36:00 PM)

    Very moving poem - the greatest possession is love, which the child clearly has, so is he not rich. (Report) Reply

  • Alex Medina (5/9/2012 5:18:00 PM)

    You said you wanted to improve your work but I ask you, what is there to improve? (Report) Reply

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