Neither have I measured the life with coffee spoon
Nor did hips ever become a drum to beat, at noon
Cruel hunger like autumn paved the path for spring
I dreamed; for empty tummy within the poverty ring.
I measured life with tear full tumbler like a gambler
Breathe stucks up on stake and eyes and mind blur
Initially Lord gave me poverty and then thought
Now held pen with pain, for you, poems, I brought.
Whether you read or not, poems, here on poem hunter
I will write, so as to ease myself and my agony, for barter