Inside a dark room,
Lying on my bed,
Alone and lost in thought—
“What does tomorrow hold for me?”
“Can I change this ugly state I’ve found myself in?”
I’m broke, but not broken.
My mind keeps bouncing
Like a restless basketball,
Caught in the league of life’s harsh tournament—
Thinking as if tomorrow
Is my last chance to make it or fade away.
I feel a rope around my neck,
A whisper of despair calling me closer,
For no help comes from friends or family.
I’m in a silent war—
Fighting to survive
Or die trying.
I’ve seen and tasted
The bitterness of poverty.
No food, no money.
Friends mock me,
Family sees no worth in me.
I feel myself slipping,
My clothes are torn, my soul weary,
My face rough like an untamed forest.
I wonder—why was I born?
What is the true meaning of life?
I gaze through the window
And see life from a distance—
It glows for the rich,
But fades for the poor.
Riches bring food,
Clothing, joy, and peace.
Poverty brings nothing
But darkness and pain.
In this cruel world,
Poverty is death—
But riches…
Riches are life.
Also Read: The Pain of Loneliness
