The Poor's Struggle Poem by Miethi Goswami

Those weary eyes,
in search of some flickering light,
grope around while they're
coerced into their imminent plight;

Their furtive desire
to mingle with the rich,
dies unfulfilled
as one can't cross a broken bridge;


Their backs are bent
carrying ripped bags,
they wear tattered pieces,
and sleep on rags;

They have the choice
only to breathe,
and follow the road
which their destinies lead;


They can choose
either 'something' or 'nothing',
they can't complain,
amidst the affluent world,
their voices sink and wane;

Their cries go unheard,
their lives are marked by scars,
can, they, dream to reach the sky,
but can only count stars.

They smile
if they find a morsel to swallow,
their life's nothing
but dreadfully hollow;

While the wealthy horde
cry over their torn shoes,
the paupers die
wrapped up in their own woes.