Cursed To Be The Dead
There are things that we need
And things that we think we need
But in actuality, it’s just selfish craving.
A Hungry mouth
A Hungry soul
Only blood and tears to quench the thirst.
Hungry. Angry. Tired.
But yes, lonely they are not. For many like them are waiting
For the rains to ease their souls and bring them some peace.
Draught; starvation, famine and death for all.
People bathed in dread and fear. No food.
No water. No shelter. No clothing.
Yet another part of the world is indulging in debauchery;
Stale food and sour milk; littered on the marble floor.
Their pockets are rich, but their hearts are cold.
I shudder to think how it would feel
To walk among the living
Cursed to be the dead.
Prayer sometimes isn’t enough.
Dangerously devouring dreams of many,
The world needs to change.
*This poem is dedicated to all the people who are victims of drought and famine.