forgotten masses - by cyclopseven

rupturing wail of forgotten souls
ripping through the voices of poors
pangs of hunger tones their language
they shout and shout till dumb they become
and their language falls on hearing impaired.
their rights they know have gone
but please they beg
“spare us our souls”.

torching heat of fire burning
heating but vessels of blank food
a scoop just to stuff shouting stomach
but for strength, nothing but blank food.
father works the toil for money scarcely enough
mother worries the mind how to feed the young ones
children runs mixing the mud with play
knowing something for them surely be in store
to kill the hunger, they hardly worry of.

life goes everyday
in worries they breath their hope
“will the Lord, show us a way
to escape the suffering that prey”
not a word from Him
not even a silent nod
He hears but the slum knows not whether He listens.

the trail the poor step on glitters in the heat of noon
of material good in quality the road made of
for the rich man to drive his posh wheelers steady
without bumps.
the poor walks and cycles
along the same trail daily
all their thoughts they ask one thing
“sirs in highest ranking
spare the money used for the trail glitters
and give us a life that shine
for the road can remain a trail without glitter
and the rich, its ok let them go on bumpy drive
in air condition they sleep better - off the bumps
less the chauffer wake them up
and point at the flood ahead.

then the rich and poor
we travel together holding hands
wading the flood water;
its funny to think
finally we are united in flood water.
“God gracious, let there be uniting flood every seconds”
Pray the slum dwellers in devotion.