An Outcry

The countryside was their homeland, Buried in the rich soils were their sons’ navel strings, Nothing of their history was bland, Not even the stain on their names or grit on their rings. They toiled at life as if it was their last day, Their dignity and self-respect was all that was left, Making a sacrifice that little know of today, Even their identities were liable to theft. How lives are changed in this modern world, The white lies tell of no more enslavement, Yet we are groomed to fit into their mold, For a moment of liberation and enjoyment. Such is the world’s cruel reality, For the sake of sustenance and survival, The wealthy living is given to the minority, And the poor man works and cries in deprival. Third world societies’ demise in hind sight, Yet they gloss it over with petty mess, Dealing with trivial matters that concur their might, Than those that seeks to make progress. With their soft voices and layman words, Who or what can they confront with their distaste, If their dissatisfaction always go unheard, What can a young child do to feel less displaced?