Slums Poems - Poems about Slums

In Delhi's heart, a tale untold, Of towering shadows, harsh and cold. Gleaming steel and vibrant lights, Hide a stark contrast, unseen at night. Pan across narrow, winding lanes, Zoom in on makeshift shacks, defying rains. Corrugated tin, a patchwork quilt, Where dreams and desperation, subtly melt. Close-up on faces, etched with care, Weathered hands, a burden to bear. Eyes that hold a flicker of...

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The world hurtles on unmindful Leaving behind those who cannot keep pace So many are under constant grind To earn a square meal a day On deserted streets many roam Their stomachs empty, their bowels growling They have nothing to rejoice, only to grieve For them, joy is an unknown flavor They too are rightful heirs to Nature’s bounty Yet fate decrees for...

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I have lost my emotional attachment to the bull people pulling love from the air, cheering I love you not caring; willing to share whatever emotions they have with anyone who doesn’t know any better, how to feel or believe in what’s real. True spoken words engaged, must enrage the very thoughts of society; misconceptions...

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Slums of the World In Bombay I got lost in a slum so vast, a maze of poverty its inhabitants survive in a mysterious way living as they do off the waste produced by the prosperous. This anthill, this myriad of struggling humanity, if they are not too busy surviving every moment of the day, look up...

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~Born In The Slums.~ She was born in the slums sixty three years ago by a mother out of wedlock delivered her all alone In an empty dirty corridor due to a mistake she committed one night out of lust, or maybe out of love, we will never know. New born first cry to freedom Mothers last cry from freedom New...

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By the Gulshan lake The slum's children play cricket On a tiny land!...

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She lit candles in her empty kitchen. Burnt air disappears through the back door. Pale and wild, brittle street witch, shy, wide eyes. Her mind like a weathered epitaph, left alone in it's quiet mystery; but her spirit roams gentle and porous. City sorrows like ashes cling to her rags, sting her eyes. Their faces burn inside her like dim candles giving warmth to her own melancholy. The cafe windows are...

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