Poverty: A Poem by Ali Akash

Ali Akash is a well-known Sindhi poet of present age,Ali Akash has several books on his credit including Kak Kinaray Sham (Poetry, 1998), Hinyaro Othi Wag Jein (Poetry, 2017), Sahari Jay Bachao Main (Literary Essays, 2017), Paka Rach Kumbhar Ja (Poetry, 2018), Nain Kavita Jo Behas (Literary Essays, 2018), Darvesh Ji Tanhai (Poetry, 2019), Gulabi Agatay Wendar Rah (Profiles of International Poets and translation of their poetry, under publishing, institute of Sindhology, Jamshoro), Co-translator of great Sindhi intellectual Mohammad Ibrahim Joyo's book "Save Sindh, Save the Continent), translated Sindh-Punjab Water Dispute written by Rasool Bux Palejo, while hundreds of his columns and articles have been published in different Sindhi daily newspapers on regular basis.

This poverty!

 Descends into the pocket firstly,

The person is shocked immediately,

Recollecting himself thinks later,

Nothing is wrong,

Who stares into pockets,

Everyone stares at clothing,

And this poverty,

Gradually descends in clothing,

Damages them,

Everyone sees it,

No one says him anything on face,

A lot of discussion goes on behind his back,

The person gives himself encouragement:

So what! If such is the condition,

Though the clothes are not new,

Yet they are neat and clean,

Nothing is wrong in it,

And then poverty descends into his eyes,

Friends meet (him),

Talk about causal things,

There is backbiting,

There are jokes,

The person is far lost,

Among large company,

He's lonely and lost,

He glancing in everyone's face,

Thinks this way:

Who has the money

From whom he'd borrow it!

Time is spent in such speculations,

Decency stops him,

He utters not a word,

Nor borrows anything,

And then poverty,

Descends into his words,

And thus he is broken,

Sits among friends,

Relatives,

He says:

I strive hard,

How much burden I take,

Yet my needs don't meet means,

All needs are incomplete,

Have a hard life,

I've no helping hand.

Seeing his misery,

 Companions help him,

They sideline him after helping,

Borrowing bites him,

Yet pushes hand forward again and again,

And then the person,

Becomes alone day by day,

From decent  becomes indecent,

Burns inside himself,

Spinning in the spin-wheel of needs,

Is torn apart,

Thus sells-out his decency,

He becomes a saw-thumb in the society, 

The respect he'd earned entire life,

Slips out of his hand,

From special he becomes ordinary,

Yesterday, he was so much popular and proud,

Now he's lost it,

 Cutting off from everyone due to poverty,

Eventually loses his identity,

In the darkness of loneliness,

Dies slowly and painfully,

Becomes a grave,

Becomes a small news item.