The Curse Of Poverty

• Maryam Aziz, Grade 6
• Poetry
• 2019

I’m famish,
About to vanish.
My bones deteriorate,
Into a pile of wreckage.
Flying into deserted tents,
Left with only cents.
In a third-world country,
With innocent, needy humans left starving.
Dehydration sucking my soul,
Trying not to let it get to me,
Finding fresh water for the surviving humans.
Only left with what I have,
My body pushing me to what I do not crave.
This is how I live,
This is what I’m with.
It may be your worst nightmare,
But this is the curse of poverty.