I’ve been looking for this for a while, and it’s purely chance that I stumbled across a copy of it.
This is the very first poem that I wrote that made sense. Everything prior to this was required by class and/or was pretty infantile, in my opinion. Literally, lines were like “The rat scurried under the hat/So that he could run away from the cat”.
I wrote this in second year high school. Some of the verses just suddenly jumped into my mind while I was sleepily listening in class, and for several days, I couldn’t shake the words out of my head. So I wrote it all down. I probably finished writing the whole thing during break time. Ever since I wrote this, my writing has been noticeably better. It’s weird.
I didn’t know what the poem was about while I was writing it – I just know that the images were powerful and honestly kind of disturbing. It was only after I had a friend read it that it was pointed out to me that it was about poverty. It’s pretty obvious when you see it now, but when I wrote it, I just saw the voiceless suffering and the cold, detached outcasting. I still remember how unreal it felt to see those images in my head, but then… this is what’s happening in the world today.
I’ve edited it a little so that it flows just a little bit better.
The nightmares I had as I lay
Haunt me even into the day
Rain has stopped, clouds left the sky
But tears still flow from my eye
The world overflows with the sun’s beam;
I am blinded by the harsh gleam
The world sounds of sweet melodies
But all I hear are cries of misery
They eat from a feast and drink wine
She eats the scraps they left behind
He is naked; He has no clothes
Blessed treasure are the rags they loathe
They live in mansions of grandeur
She dwells on the streets with lepers
Their children play in flowered fields
I see the bloody knife he wields
The biting chill is his blanket
He’d be warmer in a casket
The world sleeps on beds of roses
She sleeps with flies, dogs and corpses
Starved flies come to feast on his skin
Hungry worms eat him from within
She is lost in a world of black
Lying dead and cold on her back