5. The Beggar

5. The Beggar


The beggar, on the street corner,

down on his knees, eyes pleading, beseeching.

Straddled on his shoulder, is a little girl,sweating.

Uncomfortable, sickly and with fever,burning.


What a life is this for them?

No food! No clothing! No shelter!

No basic amenities

and no shelter!


What a life is this for them?

Living on leftover,

a few coins thrown in their cup.

Scrummaging forever!


Has our hearts become so hard and common,

that we see the beggar a’s vermin?

Is it not our responsibility,

to eradicate poverty?


Anwar Suleman


4.My Back

4. My back

Click! Clack! Crack!

There goes my back!

Cannot stand straight.

with a hurting back, that is my fate!


Ooh! Aah! Eish!

My back is finish!

Pulsating pain!

My whole body in strain.


Drum! Doof! Whack!

My wife massages my back.

Her touch, soothing n calm

like a relaxing balm.


Click! Clack! Crack!

I am now backnown on track!


Anwar Suleman


3. Allergy

3. Allergy

Unseen, Microscopic Dustmites..

Living in the air

and everywhere.


Watery eyes, sneezing, coughing

and running nose.

Cannot even smell the fragrant rose.


These Dustmites are inflaming my allergy,

causing an infection in my nasal cavity.

with some infused medication that I require

and it’s of to bed I retire.


Anwar Suleman



2. The Marathon

2. The Marathon


All the excitement, building to a crescendo.

I awake early and I know it is not in vain.

With a short prayer

I calm my body and brain .


The Marathon has begun.

12 hours to write 12 poems.

I reach deep into my inner self

so that my heart in inspiration, freely roams


Oh! What an achievement!

With my fellow poets, to be writing.

Around the globe, all at once

poetic prose, to be composing.


No blood, no sweat, no tears

when running this poetry marathon.

Just a sense of comraderie with your fellow peers.

See you all at the finishing line.


Anwar Suleman

1. The Writer

The alarm screeching .

I wake up with my heart thumping

like a drum beating,

soaring in nervous anticipation.


The moon in the dark, desolate sky is bright.

It’s beauty, an inspirational sight.

My mind and heart in excitement is burning alight.

Whilst everyone else is asleep in calm, sweet repose.


Like a guitar, the keyboard, I lovingly strum.

It’s clatter, like a beating drum.

Words appear, as elegant dancers on my monitor as I rhythmically hum.

In excitement, solitude and peace of mind, I am writing, I am writing.

I am writing.