Poverty

Walk as I do always go,

And sit at the same spot,

I had sat two decades ago.

The wood I sit on, it appears, 

In a battle with age it has been caught,

Sings are there of damage,

It has, a little bit, began to  rot.

As I walk and sit,

In time circuit,

In the trees' neighbourhood,

Not only the woods,

The surrounding too, appears in the mood -

Wanting  to embrace  a change.

So, some old things have gone,

Some new things have emerged;

Although from it all, I am totally estranged.

I feel the same way,

I felt back then.

From all angles seen,

My problems as ever seemed unresolved,

So, as a result, I have remained unchanged,

Only I have aged.

Over the time, no matter how wise I have become,

I am  still in a cage.

Evil is a formidable weapon,

Men have armed  themselves with to engage,

I could not break out,

Lo and behold! the guards are savage.

To rise above poverty stain,

Try if I do, I will end up slain,

But I know one day,

Spelt blood will not flow in vain.

The ravage of justice  will  soon have to reign -

The culprits, wo/men,

Evil - the weapon,

Poverty - the clown,

kicking and screaming, bundled in chains,

Will have to be driven

To the opposite side of heaven. 

Copyright Haileselassie Girmay