In the Colony of Rags

Slain without swords they are Though the airy wordly air They inhale yet in graceless lack Behold in the colony of wretchedness Naked children begging alms From brothers-not brothers See as flies soar above sores On their broken soles pus to lick From the leaking flesh of starving souls Don't their ribs tell the origin of bones? Aren't worms molesting their intestines? Don't they a place share in the supreme likeness? Deserted cold gutter-side is their safe haven at night And without meals they exit in multiple batches To account for the trilemma of their ragged souls