Hunger is a bitttch

Last night, homeless children roamed like gangs in the streets_

budding thieves, murderers, and whores;

the ones you’d keep safe in an underground prison.


Today, I was asked if I attended religious ceremonies

like those in Moharram and Safar,

when streets are packed with the mourners of Hossein_

pious people, true believers, heavenly folks,

I suppose.


There are free tea and sweets stalls

marking every 10 meters of my neighborhood;

they’re of course not meant to be for the poor_

they’re for the rich

having some late night fun out

joining the morbid carnival.


The poor went about on empty stomach tonight.


Poverty knows no shame,

don’t take offense,

hunger is a bitttch;

believe me.


“This is a cold world.”

save your political righteousness

and your burning religious rap

you’ll need them to survive this winter.


I’m just hungry for words,

hungry for the blue ink I stain.

I just need a few crumbs of words for my aching mind.

morbid carnival

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