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
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