There.
They smile at me:
wide expanses of scattered teeth
grins too large for their hungry faces
holding on by a thread
yet,
content.
Not troubled by their everyday struggle.
Kindness exploding from every pore on their frail bodies
but,
why?
Lightened hair on dark skin,
hinting malnourishment.
calloused hands and fading scars,
diligent and determined while
living in absolute poverty
when tomorrow isn't guaranteed
nothing is.

Here.
everyone complains:
stress, anger, suicide.
Too many problems,
too much,
but why is it us?
Who hurl our precious protests
at a preoccupied world
when the happiest
who have nothing
don’t mutter one.