The atrocious famine


By JW Kuir Dut

They counted ribs on their concertina chest
Bones protruding as if chiseled
By a sculptor’s hand of famine they suffer
The looked with glazing pupils
Seeing only a chignon on some sky-high shelf
Their skins are pale and faun
Like a glove in a doctor’s hand
Their tongue darted in and out
Like a chameleon’s
Snatching a confetti of flies
Oh! God
Their stomachs are lion’s den
Boisterous day and night
What a marvelous shock
Of hunger their eyes shone
Poverty the fortune of the poor

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