Sore little hands of blistered grime,
Red chapped cheeks slapped by rime,
Your bruised tired eyes betray sad soul,
No crumb, nor crust written in your bowl.
You´re still a babe, yet now so hard at work,
Beaten & chained if you dare sleep or shirk,
Cold & matted, no clothes, no food, no bed,
Just society´s canopy hanging over your head.
The Americas, Asia, Africa & all Europe too,
Progress, votes & elections haven’t saved you,
Centuries gone, forgotten, have flown fast by,
Your unshed tears hidden within your little eye.
The sweat shops, quarries & deep dark mines,
It matters not; they are still all society´s crimes,
To ignore it, to permit it & allow it still to happen,
Yet, we don´t break the mold nor rip the pattern.
Tentative smile upon your tender & quivering lip,
Never tasted clean water, never even one little sip,
No arms to hold you close & to dry your little tears,
No blessed Angels to chase away your very real fears.
Twenty first century & we´re known as modern man,
Slavery ended we´ve been told, that´s the leaders plan,
Yet slaves we still use of the world’s smallest little tots,
Turning our busy heads away, not caring one single jot.
© Sue Lobo
Excerpt form the book “Divided Lines – A Poet’s Stance”
Foreword . . .
In a world of ever increasing advances seemingly created to make our lives easier to manage, envisioned to bring us together, to draw us closer, we are still in many instances isolated and at odds and validly apart. Something is missing, there is a snag, a rip, a hole in the spiritual fabric that we all see; yet we continue to fail to address.
It has been said by self-proclaimed philosophers, theologians, scholars’ and politicians that the abuse of words can be a danger, there are those that believe words are a leading factor in what ills our society. Of this we do not deny in full, there have been abuses, history is but a melody to that fact, yet it is also true that words have the innate capacity to bridge, to heal that which divides.
Opinions, views, religions, nations, people, even love divides. The focus of this book and the poets here in, is to give breath to a wide range of issues both small and controversial that lie beneath the surface. Things that we are often hesitant to discuss. In saying that, I will offer that the role of a poet is not to persuade or to add more rhetoric to the static we hear. A poet’s responsibility is to shine the light of awareness, to create a platform for dialogue, for healing, to gather up the images in an attempt to understand what we see.
Demitri Tyler, Author
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