Monday, June 28, 2010

A Daughter of Poverty

I was born on a mat;

dried coconut leaves woven
by the hands of my ancestors;
the great heirs of the earth's dust.

The walls of my dreams were burgled before I realized
I am dreaming...

I am a farmer's daughter,
I have the command over mountains
Over fields and fruit bearring trees.

I am the smoke that rise Up
to shoo the pest on the flowers

My hands,they reflect the soil

From my first breath up to present
The scent of solitude...of penitence.,
has never left the tip of my nose,

I've experienced working like an animal;
Skipping meals for six dollars an hour,
Hiding my tears when I want uo cry;
Tied my tounge when I want to speak,

I am like the shadow in the night
No one has spoken of my bitternes,
Nobody saw my pains.

I've been in hell once in a while-
Don't talk to me about the worst
I  am a daughter of poverty.

What hardship still I had never taste?

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