Trigger Warning- harsh reality of poverty
It feels wrong to write poetry on that young child holding an infant
Begging for money
Especially when I didn’t help him
Mostly because I didn’t have money on me
But in part because it didn’t occur to me to go out of my way against the implicit instructions of my parent
Due to fear, due to discomfort,
And even as my heart cried,
And my heart ached to help
Them and all the others around that needed
My mouth couldn’t ask my mother for a few coins
And would those change much?
And what if it was a business preying on my charity?
Yet, how I can mine paper off their misery?
And then I think of the child whose feet have shoes because of me,
The god lady who I tipped with a burger in exchange for blessings,
The woman who gave me blessings even though I had no tip,
The children who I hoped are clothes with my money
And more
And I breathe easy,
But my heart continues to ache,
I wish to earn enough to help everyone and me
But a part of me screams that won’t help
It’s the systems duty,
But is there a better system we aren’t seeing?
And so, despite not being religious and questioning God,
I pray. I pray. I pray.
I pray for them. I pray for mine and me.
I pray for you.
And then I see the coins being dropped, the wares being bought,
And I breathe easy.
If not me, someone else will,
It won’t be enough, but perhaps with prayer, thought, and determination,
With them holding each other up as I have seen them do, being a community
Perhaps, perhaps,
A chance is coming.
Author’s Note: The market was fun…except for all those I couldn’t help. Hopefully this poem reaches someone who can help, and allows others like me, unable to do more than their part, some solace against guilt. To read more of my poems, you can head to Muses_Saga.
