Not with gratitude, but with a silent snickering,
Unfortunates hidden in the shadows mock them
Knowing that collective guilt not compassion
Brings them to the slums with dubious gifts.
There an underworld economy thrives,
Happiness defined not by worldly wealth
But in the fun of stickball in the streets,
In the simplicity of breaking crusty bread,
Dances to the beat of homemade drums,
The tug of a baby at a mother’s breast,
A beautiful sunset on a hot summer nights,
The heartbeat of the metropolis 








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A hot summer's night always

A hot summer's night always colours the cityscape! Glad to have read this.

here is poetry that doesn't always conform

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