Rameshwar Yadav
Who will give to the poor?
When they walk the streets,
there’s no one to be found.
Empty sidewalks echo their cries,
no one stops to hear their sound.
The government may offer aid,
but it’s never reached to him,
his hands stretched out, weary and grim.
Promises are made, yet they fall thin,
caught in red tape, lost in the wind.
Who will give to the poor?
Their faces weathered by time and pain,
hoping for change, yet nothing remains.
The rich walk by, with eyes turned away,
as if their fortune could wash them clean.
A meal, a hand, a simple smile—
what does it cost to pause a while?
To see the humanity in every face,
and lift them up from their desperate place.
It’s more than charity, more than a handout,
it’s a call for justice, it’s a rallying shout.
A world where equality reigns and hope is restored,
where compassion is shared, and kindness is adored.
Who will give to the poor?
For when we stand together, we all can rise,
and end the struggle beneath the same skies.
So, the next time you pass by the hurting and cold,
remember, it’s not just the poor who need to be told.
We all have a part in this story, a voice in this plea—
Who will give to the poor? Will you, and will I, and will we?
Water may flow, but where is the well?
Rivers run deep, yet they pass them by,
leaving barren lands and dry, cracked skies.
The thirst of the hopeless is ignored,
their cries for justice are drowned in the roar.
Who will share the benefits with the poor?
Education might be offered, but for whom does it reach?
Books and knowledge locked behind walls,
while many still wander, unable to speak,
lost in a world that never calls.
A promise of learning, a chance to soar,
but it’s a dream for the few, not the many who implore.
Who will make education a bridge for the poor?
Who will make healthcare accessible,
even for those who don’t know where their village lies?
A pill in hand, a doctor’s care—
for the rich it’s a guarantee, for the poor a prayer.
Many walk miles through dust and strife,
to find a cure for a troubled life.
But their steps are weary, their hope is thin,
who will make healthcare a right, not a sin?
Who will make it accessible to the poor?
Many hide their faces in shame because of poverty,
Invisible in a world that doesn’t see,
silent beneath the weight of their grief,
too ashamed to ask, too beaten to believe.
Their hunger, their pain, their quiet plea,
it echoes unheard, a forgotten decree.
Who will lift their heads and give them pride?
Who will share in their sorrow, stand by their side?
Good education may exist,
but so many still wait in line for their turn.
Years pass, opportunities burn,
while the privileged climb and the poor still yearn.
A system built to serve, yet it fails the few,
while the rest stand idle, their dreams slipping through.
Who will give them the chance to learn, to grow?
Who will break the cycle, let knowledge flow?
There’s more we could add, the list is endless—
The journey of poverty is a story many know too well.
It’s a path walked by so many, yet so few lend a hand,
A cycle unbroken, a struggle unmanned.
The homeless, the hungry, the ones left behind,
Their dreams are fading, their hopes intertwined.
But not enough is being done to help.
We pass by, too busy to stop,
Too blind to notice the tears that drop.
Their voices are loud, yet unheard,
Screaming for change, for a world that’s not blurred.
There is no shame in trying to better our tomorrow.
To rise, to improve, to make a change—it starts with us.
Not tomorrow, not later—now is the time.
We can build a future that is fair, that’s just.
A future where hope isn’t out of reach,
Where the poor aren’t forgotten, left to beseech.
But who will give to the poor?
Who will rise and answer the call?
Will society come together and act,
Or will we remain indifferent, trapped in our own pact?
Will we see those who suffer and lend a hand,
Or will we turn our backs, like so many have in this land?
Or will we let their voices fade into silence?
Their cries are drowned out by the noise of progress,
Yet we are not progressing if we leave them in distress.
The poor need more than just aid; they need understanding,
Not just a donation or a one-time offering,
But a shift in our hearts, a change in our thinking.
They need a future where they don’t have to ask,
Where their worth is seen and their dignity intact.
We must work together, find solutions,
To end the cycle, to break the chains of poverty.
No more excuses, no more delays,
It’s time to act, in countless ways.
It’s not just their struggle—it’s all of ours.
For when one falls behind, we all feel the scars.
The broken system affects us all in ways we don’t see,
But when we stand together, we break free.
The world can be better, but it starts with each of us,
It starts with our hands, our hearts, and our trust.
Because we are all connected,
And when one falls behind, we all fall.
So, who will give to the poor?
It’s not just their problem, it’s our fight,
A fight for equality, for justice, for what’s right.
We can all be the change.
We are the future, the hope, the spark.
Together, we can create a world where we all can embark.
Let’s stop asking and start giving.
Let’s build a world where every soul is living.
Because when we give, we all rise,
And in our unity, no one’s hope dies.
Who will give to the poor?
The answer lies within us all,
So let’s rise up, and answer the call.
For when we give, we all rise,
And when we all rise, we change the skies.
