Green Light in the Wasteland
​
This morning's news is that food bank usage
has skyrocketed this Canadian Thanksgiving.
I’ve had my breakfast and am feeling thankful.
My hunger is for everyone to be fully fulfilled.
Yet the garden of plenty is not feeding us all.
In the corner growing is a shining hope seed.
Planted to keep the night from becoming day.
Let’s nourish this plentiful spirit that those who
have less can be filled with the dignity of more.

A single grain of rice 

I have value. 
I am important. 
I have purpose. 

I cry staring at my bowl. 
I fear the world forgot me. 
It’s empty, 
Like the promises made to save me. 

Today we got rice. 
Yesterday too. 
I used to count each grain, 
But now each hunger pain 
Drives me insane. 

I wonder what it’s like, 
To not question if I will eat today. 
I wonder if they realise 
That we are as important 
As every single grain of rice.

This road

This road buried the living hunger.
This road has the tyrannical sucking blood of the native
This road was filled with carcasses.
This road heard her pleading cries.
This road carries the waft of murder.
This road had the track of musk deer.
This road has a different grammar, different character, different syntax, and different poetry.
Sleep wanted to dive into those innocent, hungry eyes; they 
Can bite this cinder of hungry 
Hunger that remained long in her dying eyes
Paid more than the borrowed sum
Face covered with ashen policies and plans
The turn of the road is where their houses conjoined the dancing flames.
Here the white vultures feasted on the sweat and toil of deer.
Here once the old lions tore the flesh of the souls.
Here their hands designed the structure after structure.
Here they divided them into parties, sects, ideologies, beliefs, and preached pieces.
The ditch is where they learned to say yes.
Oh! Hunger, have some patience; they will be exiled soon.

Crying

I heard the familiar cry calling
Sound is similar in Asia, Africa, Australia
Gaza, Nigeria, Russia, Ukraine, ……
I wanted to write A for apple, but what it’s H
For hunger
That familiar crying child disturbs me
Day and night
That orphan on the railway station
Circling his dead, starved mother
To wake up
Though she has left some
Hunger for him to feed on

Click to hear the poet read the poem.