The Call

I am not who you call me if that's what you mean I do not flatter egos With glitz and glamor of words while the obscene Condition of people's lives tell In front of our eyes there is an invisible hell I want this poem to be a soldier then Searching and killing in human hearts The terrorist poverty that cankers men I want this poem to be a social worker Bringing the homeless into the shelter Of the love of men, I want this poem To be like Jesus doling bread famished mouths I want this poem to be a healer mending The broken health of citizens Forgotten by a narrow minded wealth Of technology in earth's richest country I am not who you call me if that's what you mean My language is not a party For intellectuals looking for new leaves Meaning, this is not a ball Of words for socialites and celebrities And I do not want to read again Poets lost in private pain Unless their pain connect as a metaphors For the suffering of the world If poems do not have compassion They should cause compassion And then as one army Let us march to right history And voice the cause of the downtrodden The oppressed, depress The wretched of the earth, distress The lonely, broken, forgotten I am not who you call me if that's what you mean I am poet of the people, the people's poet A poet's words are bombs, missiles, bayonets Do not read these poem Holding my words too close to your eyes