A Room Where Poverty Visited Comments

😭😭😭😅😭very sad story

He was all alone now with wrinkled face and hands that trembled, no longer could he pull a rickshaw or clean a garden, what he could only do is to count the beads of the rosary of death... terriible and heart rending scenes you have portrayed here dear poetes.. poverty is the greatest evil........ we poets should a lot to move people to give to the poor through our writitngs.. tony

A very sad story. Great in observation. Speaks for the poor.

An awesome write. You have sketched natural figure of the society. No more to say they have understood very well that they are cheating the public at every inch. Thanks for invitation. Keep writing. Full marks.

Wow! An excellent poem on the poverty of India, the depravity given to the people by corrupt politicians. When visiting India I saw the unequality between rich and poor. Traveling on a train for 2 1/2 days seeing the awesome and beautiful homes of the rich, then the grass huts with little or nothing in them, children barely if even clothed, begging for food. It made me cry, I was asked why I was crying, and I said, because this is so wrong, it shouldn't be happening in this, the 21st century. This poem of yours has definitely struck a chord within me, bringing back the stark reality of the poverty there and the rich doing nothing at all many times, except maybe buying fireworks for the celebrations that even the poor attended. Your poetry is very illuminating, please continue writing about the injustice, poverty and inequality in lives of many in India. Hopefully, people will wake up and realize that it takes a village to raise a child, but also to end poverty. Thank you for sharing so honestly, Sutputra. RoseAnn

Humanistic write to portray the plurality of poverty ramping to rise, yet ingenious, thanks for inviting me to share.

Wonderful Narration of Poverty.. expressed to the tiniest points. Thank you for sharing! ! 10++!

The poverty of a human being in its own reality told by the poet and the well known hyoocricy of world

Nothing much to address! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.

favorite line so far: He was coughing, spitting in the broken bucket he had there was no sign of sunshine even when it was 12 at noon on my watch, food looked like a distant visitor to his house it seemed, it liked the dustbin of a rich more than the stomach of a poor AND: He was all alone now with wrinkled face and hands that trembled, no longer could he pull a rickshaw or clean a garden, what he could only do is to count the beads of the rosary of death... i did not look up any words; maybe you could give English translations in a Poet's Notes. it would help us who only know English or German or Spanish! :) of course i do not give translations of my English words to Indian 'native-speakers'! ! ! ! ha ha. a wonderfully put together poem. i'm rushing this comment. later i may comment on the English, which is almost perfect in my eyes. i don't 'do' drugs, but i also don't 'do' God. i DO have plenty to eat, thanks to? ? ? to MyPoemList. welcome to PoemHunter. bri :) i see you followed Tapan's suggestion and changed came to come. Good!

babu of poverty had been a frequent visitor stark naked as if they never wore anything a small blanket with dust marks and small holes, a few broken, rusted kitchenware the smoke of the beedi, his lungi, broken bodies and shattered dreams Bhagavad Gita and Quraan wrinkled face and hands that trembled, counting the beads of the rosary of death... a heart rending picture of poverty, sufferiing.... it touched my heart dear poetess. great description and the power of observation.... a great talent...... a great poetess you are. please write about all injustices in our society. i always believe that poets have a divine call. your call is to raise the voice against social injustice........ thank you. naturally i give u a big 100

Through the poem we can see the woes of many poor people in the our slums.Realistic.Nicely done.

I appreciate the depth of your observation with regard to the destitute people and the conditions which become synonymous to their lives. Thanks a lot for such a thought provoking poem. the smoke coming out of the beedi that the man in lungi was inhaling there was no sign of sunshine even when it was 12 at noon on my watch, it seemed, it liked the dustbin of a rich more than the stomach of a poor

A great imaginative and realistic work, dear. Thanks