Poverty's Grosteque Ring of Violence

Airyn Lentija-Sloan
Posted August 4, 2010 from Philippines


Airyn Lentija

The scent of cold winds on the harsh, high plateau and on our house have a thing in common: the longing for a loving touch.

My mother once lived within mountains... suffered emptiness.

She hugged a blanket of the night with chilling breeze and survived alone...

Now she's in her thirties and has a son; Me, old enough to realize pain and understand hate.

When I was ONE, hospitals became my home... I had colds, diarrhea and often I fell, cut myself and swallowed objects like magicians did because my mother didn't bother to care.

I slept, ate and played on the floor


I reached TWO I forced myself to take a shower on my own

I lived with a cellphone next to me so I could phone her when I awake.

At THREE I know how to make myself a milk and kick myself out of the house so I could beg food from peers because nothing was left for me to eat.

I never refuse to learn from anyone... though my mother often shouts at me, spanks me...treated me wildly at home.

Exceptional.... that was she. Why is that?

My mother who is now holding a university degree learnt to live in solitude, known no loving touch of a mother's love.

Maybe that's why she never loved me... comforted me...

but I am her son and I longed to hug her tight; She is my mom.

Comments 4

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  • Olutosin
    Aug 05, 2010
    Aug 05, 2010

    This is very right dear young writer, as you can see it is a continuum.......poverty has many children too.

  • Airyn Lentija-Sloan
    Aug 05, 2010
    Aug 05, 2010

    Thank you so much.This poem was inpired by Jackie's blog POVERTY VS VIOLENCE...the story is so touching and it really touches me deeply.

    thank you

    your friend

  • Jacqueline Patiño
    Aug 05, 2010
    Aug 05, 2010

    Thank you for the poem. You have no idea how deeply hurt I am for this story, and I thus understand your sorrow.

    Hugs dear friend,


  • Airyn Lentija-Sloan
    Aug 05, 2010
    Aug 05, 2010

    I wouldnt have come up with this piece if i havent get to read your journal.That story will always stay as an inspiration to me to do my best and use my talent to voice out the voice of the poor children.

    your friend