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To The Rich

Chrish is a poetry writer who loves to paint, nature and dog lover, who write for herself and happy to share it with you.


Walking in this empty street

I tried not to look in everyone's

Eyes to read what hides inside

For I always over-think and always

Over-feel, I can feel everything

To the deepest level

To every corner of my bones

To the core of my heart,

Walking through the empty street

Anyway, where billions of people's eyes

Are open and it's up to them

What to see and what they

Want to see, neither they

Want to see nor they don't

Want to see, it's all up to them.

As I was observing these people

In this wordless wide home

I thought;

God has given us four eyes

The concealed eyes of our heart

That can see anything and

Can feel everything

And the eyes beneath our eyebrows

Which is always open

But often blind,

I've seen people crossing the streets

Passing through the road

Turning their heads with their

Merciless and selfish eyes

As they look in the eyes of their

Suffering, thirsting and hungry brethren

The Lords heart is breaking in a wordless

Level of emotion.

I thought and sighed in sadness.

Their eyes are open but they cannot see

Hearts are beating but they cannot feel

Putting themselves superior to their

Mourning and suffering brethrens

Their hearts and mind are too occupied

To notice their poor brethren

And understand their struggles and temptations

They feel to high and honored

To put themselves in the wretched

And poor man's place,

Love and mercy dies out of their hearts,

I sighed heavily while watching them

Shutting themselves away from their poor

Brethrens, God gave wealth to these people

That they may comfort one another,

His poor childrens, I murmured

That they may bless the needy

And lessen their sufferings

But the riches misunderstood

The given blessings

And spent in pampering

Their pride and selfishness

And while their poor brethrens

Pacing back and forth in this empty street

Expecting for the tender mercy of God through

These people for they believed that God is great

And has made ample provisions,

But they're often disappointed by this people

And I am here watching them, and still am

And God's heart bleeds so much as He watch

His children passing through their brethrens

With a merciless look

And dried hearts,

I remember when the day come

As He promised, He will be back.

The stars above the horizon

Will born

And the birds will sing their unheard song

Every heart will notice Him

Neither on the darkness of the night

Nor on the first morn of the universe

And that time He will remind us all

what was once Christ behold,

It was I who was thirsty

It was I who was hungry

It was I who was a stranger

It was I on the empty street

Who was sick

It was I on the prison

While you were pampering your

Selfishness in your luxurious home

I had nothing where to lay my head

While you raise your fancy glass

With laughter and enjoying your

Bountifully spread table

I was famishing in the empty street

While you overfill your wardrobe

With opulent apparel

I was indigent

While you chase those pleasures

I have been languishing in jail,

All those days that you've been

Passing through these afflicted ones

You come so close to me

Yet, you did not even dare to look

At them with so little kindleness,

Did you know that when you doled out

Scanty portions of your food

To the ravenous poor, and when you gave

Yourself pride as you outstretched your

Arms to give those flimsy garments

To cover them from cold and insects


'' Inasmuch as ye have done it of the

Least of these my brethren, you have done it

Unto Me, said He. ''

Then I catch myself in the middle

Of the street watching these riches,

If only I could summon the angels

Who has been wandering here

And beg them to take that knives

Out from your chest, I will.

Then sadness and fear suddenly appear

The word of judgement is very clear

Inside my heart and in my head

Where my Lord said to those people

On His left side

'' depart from me, you cursed ''

Into the eternal fire a place

A place of darkness and weeping

The devil and his angels are waiting.

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