His story is a sad one believe me
His tattered clothes still not knit
For lack of contemporary cowry
His skin is tortoise’s map
For lack of nourishment & ointment
Your appearance tells all

Did the polity know about it?
What about your habitation
Or the affluence in your habitation
Did they all close their eyes at it?
Because your story is appealing
They now avoid your path.

When would this tornado cease
That you would experience rain
I wish this sore leaves early
That your skin puts on polish
Penury, penury when would you retrieve
That the pauper stops his feeble fight

Be happy and dream desire
Think not the rejection of polity, habitation or affluence.



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