How poor are the poor

How poor are the poor?

Seek you the truth or brooding soul?

How illegitimate are the poor?

How beautiful, how profane?

What do you know of the colour

Of disequilibrium? Vagrant like

Fragrance in a whirlwind.

Beauty as proposition must wrap

Gaunt bones in velvet

Green like breathing rain. But

The colour of solidarity.

Is brown – make of it

What you will. Lumpen

Litanies in mendicant bowls

Or mushroom homes, nomadic spores..

For every hut you bring down

Another unfurls. The poor

Shall resurrect. From the depths

Of despair, music listens.

The soul flares and moves on,

The way of all inheritance.

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SARADA MURALEEDHARAN

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