Saturday, 6 June 2015

Poem for the "Privileged"

Poem for the privileged, 
The ones who say: 

"death to the poor,
leave them too the floor"
Rich kid, silver spoon born,
need a rusty fork,
ignorant tongue
need tetanus,
before you speak on the poor
you better keep a lockjaw.

You work in a
high rise building
go home to your
inherited kingdom;

act like you work hard,
you got the easy life,
I had to take the bus
at 16, whilst you're
mummy and daddy
taught you to drive,
then brought you a new car,
so yes you do have the easy ride.

When all is given,
other attributes are lacking,
like the simple things of helping
others if you can,
you lack human compassion,
the fact you can share,
but would rather ration;

Not for food,
but certain accessories,
to separate yourself from
those you would see as lower entities,
seems like once your rich
all poor are the enemies.
Poor people don't vote,
because it does nothing for them,
but make their hopes more broke,
promises for a equal economic society
is a serious matter, but to politicians, a joke;

Privilege love politics,
because they get all the benefits,  
Whilst shit on people on benefits,
never to realise the conflict with
a lower classes universal credits...
But the universe will not give you credit,
because you make those below
you feel rejected,
but remember money does not
keep you protected,
if anarchy were to come in the
war would be first victims to be elected.

I do not feel under privileged,
I come from London's village,
said to be lucky...

Nothing worse than seeing selfish;
acts in a developing country,
where the only "M" that Matters is
not the one of Moral but the one of Money.

Tell me I am too lazy to get a job,
one of the real reasons I can't get a job is
because I don't wear a suit and tie
wear my dreadlocks,
non conformist attitude,
so will never talk like a snob;

Rick folk,
always take a poke,
finger pointing at poor triers,
rather see him with an ounce of dope,
than an ounce of hope.

You may have abundance,
never to understand
how it feels to be redundant,
poor blacks own both courts,
successful ones in the garden
the inferior ones in the one
they get summoned;

Law is not for the penniless,
poor practice from lawyers
that are nameless,
the cases are only to make
certain poor fathers
be more shameless.

Privilege life,
so shall never know true strife,
never know the true meaning
of being kind as they think
they are one of a kind,
so forget about mankind,
never to meet kind men
as they spend, mostly
around those who pretend,
so shall rarely meet a real friend.

So shall never walk alongside Anubis
Heavy heart; weighed down by all the gold,
they never shared, hell is what you get,
because earth you never shared,
people you never even cared...

Some may say I am privileged,
based from an outside perspective,
I am not one to say I hate where I live,
but where I live is no picnic,
none the less we share from our baskets,

they may seem,
because we work as a team,
as we encourage each others
ambitions and dreams;

I guess I am more thankful
than privileged,
as where I live is like a
modern day village,
everyone looks
out for the elders 
young kids.

At the end of the poem...

Just letting the few wealthy know,
toward god you will never grow,
ignoring your fellow man is an instant failure,
and you have failed rightfully so;

So in your short rich life,
do something rich,
settle with expensive spouses, 
who take your houses
black widows who await your ditch,
where all that wealth will go on
another hitch.

 My unprivileged,
stay strong,
keep singing
the poor mans song,
I will dance and dance,
busk until dusk,
until this mind-set is gone.

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