Food Poems: All About Life

Empty Bowls

The title hangs, a weight, a chilling, hollow sound,

Reflecting lives where hunger reigns, on barren, thirsty ground.

Not just the absence of the food, the sustenance denied,

But emptiness that echoes deep, where hope and dreams have died.

Empty bowls upon the shelf, a silent, stark display,

Of lives consumed by want and need, that slowly slip away.

The polished wood, a mocking sheen, reflecting back the light,

Upon the faces gaunt and thin, obscured by endless night.

A child's small hand, a trembling touch, upon the smooth, cool grain,

A memory of fullness lost, a lingering, aching pain.

The scent of spices, long since gone, a phantom in the air,

A cruel reminder of the feast, beyond their reach to share.

Empty bowls, a canvas blank, where stories are inscribed,

In lines of worry etched so deep, by hardship's cruelest bribe.

A mother's gaze, a haunted look, that speaks of sleepless nights,

Of choices made, of sacrifices, in fading candlelights.

Empty bowls, a symbol stark, of futures left undone,

Of education's promise lost, before the race is run.

Of dreams of brighter tomorrows, that crumble into dust,

Replaced by daily struggles fierce, a constant, bitter gust.

Empty bowls, a chilling sight, in homes where shadows creep,

Where tattered clothes and broken shoes, a silent vigil keep.

The rhythmic tick of empty clocks, a mournful, steady beat,

Marking time's relentless passage, a bitter, harsh defeat.

Empty bowls, a mirror dark, reflecting back the soul,

The strength that still remains within, to make the spirit whole.

A stubborn ember, burning low, against the chilling breeze,

A whispered prayer for sustenance, a plea to bring them ease.

Empty bowls, a call to act, a challenge to our hearts,

To bridge the chasm of despair, and play a vital part.

To break the cycle of this want, to share what we possess,

To fill the void with kindness shown, and bring them happiness.

Empty bowls, a haunting plea, a silent, desperate cry,

To recognize the human cost, of hunger's piercing eye.

To reach a hand, to offer help, to mend the broken ties,

And fill those bowls with hope anew, beneath compassionate skies.

Empty bowls, a somber scene, a picture grim and stark,

But in the darkness, tiny lights, a beacon in the dark.

A promise of a brighter day, a future yet to see,

Where every bowl is overflowing, with plenty, wild and free. Empty bowls, a stark reminder, of what we must not let,

Become the fate of any child, or soul that's burdened yet.

For in the sharing of our bread, our hearts will find their peace,

And empty bowls will fade away, and hunger's reign will cease.