Poverty
I remember my uncle,
a sixty years man,
who used to walk alone,
ten miles every day.
It was not his wish,
but really a big hole
in his pocket
that made him mad .
He tried very hard,
to develop himself
but life was hot on his side,
day and night.
What he did,
he announced himself
that instantly he died,
and will never come back .
His friends at home
they collected him,
a million dollar cash,
the burial to take place.
What shocked them,
he made a quick call
by explaining to them
that i need my cash,
am not a deadly man!
What made me mad,
it was just a small thing,
i can tell you all,
and then you laugh.
Oh! my friends,
poverty is death,
and when you face it,
you become a deadly man,
mad and fool.
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