Last night, homeless children roamed like gangs in the streets_
budding murderers, whores, and thieves;
the ones you’d keep locked in an underground prison.
Today, I was asked if I attended religious ceremonies
like those of Moharram and Safar,
when streets are packed with the mourners of Hossein_
pious people, true believers, heavenly folks,
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;
“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.