The 42

The poem below was inspired by this headline – ‘Oxfam: 42 super-rich hold same wealth as world’s poorest 3.7 bln – 22nd January, 2018

The sun shines on their towers
and glints from the roofs of their fast cars
It makes patterns in the water of their pools
and melts the ice in their long drinks
It tans their golden skin
and it blinds them
They are the 42

The 42 fat cats in their castles
with their small minds locked
on rising lines on screens
don’t they see the others
those sitting in muddy tents
drinking muddy water
wrapped in drenched rags

Don’t they see the silent babies
with their distended bellies
fly ridden, naked and snotty
their paper skin stretched
over the sharp outline
of their fragile bones

Can’t they imagine the horrors
of a child’s misery in sickness
When the doctors not on call
And there are no pills to pop
Or drugs to take
Nor a bed to rest in

Those who can afford
to be fussy over food
with their diets and their health kicks
who drag their overweight bodies to the gym
to keep ostentatiously fit
Intelligent enough to get rich
Yet what do they know of living?

 

 

 

 

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