A Modern Struggle by Yasin Shah

I am not a silent poet

Emaciated, skin taut, rib bones protruding.

Glamorous, well known, fame pursuing.

Not tens or hundreds, rather millions.

A rare occurrence, 1 in a billion.

A “lowly” existence from cradle to grave.

Unknown before, yet globally welcomed through fame.

Sustained by crumbs littering the floor.

Banqueting daily, in three courses or four.

Living life as a struggle day by day.

Spending unnecessarily in countless ways.

Accepting and pleased with how they are born.

Changing with scalpel and plastic, under self scorn.

Poor and destitute, yet still holding pride.

Shameless and faithless,sleeping with any man,woman,beast or child.

Trekking countless miles for impure water.

Consuming a beverage brought for a quarter.

Conflicted by countless years of drought and famine.

Complaining about rain, sun, thunder and lightning.

When fallen ill, they lay there, death all they await.

A sniffle or cough, the private doctor notes the customers state.

Six feet deep, a stick marks…

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