I saw the street adult.
I read the widow’s dictionary.
And I tasted the orphan’s tears.
After a raped virgins blood stained my soul with pain.
Suffering is lurking under birth.
There are thorns in the path of breathing.
Tears refuse to be shed because crying will not help.
Prayers find heaven very far to reach on time.
Where to turn if priests open scripts from porn magazines?
And sisters graduate as prostitutes to work in brothels.
The pit of poverty goes too deep and dark.
And the x-mark on the ballot paper was just another ambush.
Emotions are slaughtered.
We dwell in the house of hunger.
In the cemetery of grief we are buried, tucked in blankets of dire.
Our leaders are deafened by corruption and we keep crying.
In our plates we are served pain to eat.
