Mother, do the poor smell?
Mother, how long do the poor survive without food before they die?
Mother, do the poor carry scars and bruises on their feet from walking bare foot?
Mother, are the poor unintelligent than the rest of the world since they cannot afford education?
Mother, do the poor believe and have faith in God?


My child, one can bathe as long as one wants
But the heart will still stink if it is evil
However
The poor do not smell
For their hearts are not evil
They are the fragrance of freshly blossomed roses
My child, the poor never die
Thus
Good never dies
The bodies of the poor become part of Mother Nature
Yet
Their souls still float on the streets Begging for kindness
My child, they carry souvenirs from the lands they have traveled over
Their feet tell the journey they have traveled so far
It is a dairy written with memories of pricked skin from thorns
and remembrance of rocks poking the bare feet
My child, the poor enclose the greatest knowledge of all
Love is the education all need
Yet
Only the poor have to time to use it
My child, the poor are the human form of God
Woooooooo…
Each breath they take whispers believe
Thump, thump, thump
Is the rhythm of their heart in which faith sparks
God is testing the generosity of humans through the form of the poor
It is sad that most have not passed