The Syndrome Of The Empty Plate Poem by Rani Turton

Throughout this wide world, a common foe.
The empty day, painful nights.
How many families have slept night after night
After dining face to face with an empty plate?

Children crying, helpless mothers
Waiting for destiny to become kinder
The fear, the abjection, the dream
Not to desire, not to die.
Body aching, bones that cannot move,
Tired out, cannot.

Lacklustre paths, wrong and right
Fades into indifference. Whenever differences arise
Between people from here or there,
Colours and customs, languages and arts
There is no differences between the syndrome
And the symptoms
And the fear and the pain that wait
Of the achingly empty plate.

Copyright: Rani Turton