Poverty Poetry - Two Worlds

You don't know my city or the dusty streets where I live
You don't know my name; you don't know ME.

You have your own troubles, your OWN world – why should I be in it?
Your world is school and homework; TV and music; shopping and friends
You are concerned about your grades, your weight and your Mum nagging you to clean up your bedroom
And will she buy those designer jeans you must have for the Party on Saturday night.
You are looking forward to your holiday in America and leaving school to get that job you've always wanted.

My world is hard, unloving, unfair, ...worse
I don't have any designer jeans, just this one, dirty, threadbare dress
I have never been to school; I've never read a book
I have no Mum to nag me, or care for me – she died three years ago
I have no bedroom to keep tidy, because I have no home.

I'm concerned about where I will sleep tonight – will the Policeman wake me up, beat me up, lock me up, worse...?
I'm concerned about my aching, empty stomach
I'm not well - I have a disease I can't spell and no medicine to treat it
I have nothing to look forward to...
Except an early, lonely death from a disease my underfed body could not resist.

They call me beggar, thief, worse...
They look at me with hate in their eyes, then chase me away – what have I done?!
You see my picture in your newspaper and on your TV screen, but you turn away
You don't see ME!

I AM in your world – OUR world.
I am also aboard spaceship earth, but you are a rich passenger and I am a poor one
You CAN understand my world: ask questions, find answers, find ME!
Will you try? It might help you make sense of your own world.

What's my name?
MY name is Street Child of India.