A Love Letter to My Poverty…

Connected to my last post… a love letter to my poverty:

To my dearest Poverty,

O my darling Poverty…

Do not let me rise above you.

Without your recollection, without your scars…

as the alarm bells inside the soul and mind. 

Stay with me, my dear “traumas of difficult times.”

Teach me.

And never stop.

Please do not let me forget you.

Let me choose you.

Like the great Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. once said.

Even as I will be gifted and blessed with such a choice.

Please do not leave me.

I will have more. I must have more.

To stay alive.

To survive.

To thrive. 

But it does not mean that I must forget you.

That I wish to forget you.

As you stayed with me through those many nights dancing with the moon…

I must rise.

I will rise.

Like the great Dr. Maya Angelou once said.

But I don’t want to forget you.

Please know you will never be forgotten.

I want you to come with me.

I need to feel some joy, in this “pursuit of happyness”…

But that sorrow I shared through you must not disappear.

Can never disappear.

I need you. 

Forgive me for my emotions, but you are such an intrusive force.

But, mind you, I do appreciate your intrusion.

Shame on me, they say, to show you off to the world.

To boast about you,

To honor you and what you mean to me.

But I don’t care.

I’ll happily flaunt you.

Shame they proclaim, because there is poverty much “worse” than you.

Shame they proclaim, because society shames economic struggle. 

Shame they proclaim, because you are not supposed to belong to me. 

Oh, my darling Poverty… 

Let the evil eye watch me, scorn me, bequeath me, as I rise above you and yet, still remember you in my deeds. 

Please don’t let me break this vow to you.


Peace, warmth, and blessings, 

Your Sister, Dr. Elsa

Warrior KQueen

“She wasn’t looking for a Knight, She was looking for a Sword.” – Atticus


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2 comments on “A Love Letter to My Poverty…

  1. I don’t want to engage with your posts as a compulsive formality just to wave my hand telling you I am there…my multiple strains and stresses of OCD are enough for me. I don’t wish to read all your posts as its unnatural and I can’t do that. I don’t want to have a superficial connection. But amongst hundreds of my connection on fb, you are the only one whom I am connected with at a very different level. The reason is, I know where are you coming from and what are you saying. Just look at this post…what a masterpiece. Its more of an ode to poverty..not less than Keats…its so strong, vivid and deep. Loved every bit of it. I could hear the screaming silence….ohhh me darling poverty…..waoooww

    • Thank you for your astute and sincere observations about this piece. This especially means the world to me, considering you are a poet yourself, Saeed. It’s amazing to have a friend out there, however millions of miles away, who actually gets it, and truly sees the message as well as the sincerity behind it. Thank you. It makes one feel less invisible. I don’t think I deserve the compliment about Keats, but thank you for saying that, wow. And really thank you so much for taking the time to read this…

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