HUNGER DOES NOT KNOCK: THE BLIND SILENCE OF LIFE WE SHARE
The raga muffins,
invisibly stood there;
lone tears wrapping
themselves around
his frail heart:-
Blue skies had lost
their luster—gone dark—
like clothes of those who
who had to mourn the blessed
children they had borne and lost:-
You see, hunger does not knock—
just bellies in—whirling through empty spaces
like winds leaching cracks in an abandoned barn
of rotting crops from barren fields no lower sown:-
Yes, many try to imprison themselves in sleep
to delay the storming hunger pangs—
seeing that dark abysmal realm—to fill
their vacuous, abdominal-plowed rows:-
No, old hunger does not knock—
through the cracks of life—it seeps in
like sun rays through poorly shaded panes:-
Hey, for hunger, each day is an audacious dare;
knowing that its life grows invisible to those
who say they really care and want to help.
In awareness, hunger
does not knock;
just boldly creeps
right in, and demand
its agonistic share:-
Within its soul, life
and death still struggle;
aware that suicide
is one of the greatest sins—
Only the Master
must decide who and when:-
In this blessed, reaping land
of the plenty that God has given us,
starvation must not be treated
as if it were a sin of hungry souls:
Minds, bodies, and spirits, withering:
Many cleaning fridges of wasted food:-