The Rich Will Never Understand the Sorrow of the Poor.

Truth be told, life is deeply unfair. And when you bring this saying into the real world, it becomes more than just words, it becomes a living reality. Some people walk this earth as humans, yet live lives so far removed from the rest of us, that it's as if we exist in two separate universes: one for the rich, and one for the poor. I’m not trying to sound bitter or judgmental, but the truth is this: the rich will never truly understand the sorrow of the poor.

One man wakes up in his luxury mansion and says, “I don’t want homeless people in the capital.” But ask yourself this. Has anyone, in the history of humanity, ever dreamed of becoming homeless? Has anyone prayed to be without shelter, to be invisible, to be cast aside? Maybe I don’t know much about the desires of every human being. But I do know this: no one chooses suffering.

The wise once said, “Try walking in my shoes before you speak about my path.” Before you judge me for being poor or homeless, ask me if I ever wished for this life. Before you ignore my desperate question about my unpaid salary, ask me how I survive without money, without food, and without dignity.

Some people are so sheltered, they think their reality is universal. They eat and assume the whole world is fed. They sleep in master bedrooms and believe everyone does too. They wake up to coffee brewed by a machine and assume that’s just normal to everyone. They think forgetting a promise is nothing. But that forgotten promise could have been the only thread holding someone’s hope together.

I write this essay today not out of hatred, but from pain, because people like me have witnessed firsthand the cruelty of privilege. We've seen how the rich look down on the poor, how they rob us of our confidence, make us feel like our very existence is a mistake. And when you bring it down to the roots of our continent, the pain multiplies because the rich create a mixture of tribalism, xenophobia, and prejudice, ingredients that turn poverty into pure misery.

There is nothing more painful than being treated like nothing. It hurts. It hurts so deeply that even tears feel empty. You want to cry out the pain, but no one is listening. The rich don’t come running to say, “I’m here to help.” Why would they? Do they even know that some people go an entire day without food?

Let’s be human for once because no one chooses to be poor. How would you feel if you worked for months without receiving your salary? How would you feel if someone told you your homelessness was illegal? Let's pretend just for a moment that you are that homeless man. That you are that unpaid employee. That you are the one living off broken promises. Let’s pretend you are me. Let’s pretend you are that crushed insect stepped on again and again, without mercy.

Again, no one wishes for a broken life. And I’m certain that if the tables were turned, if you lived this pain, you would either be writing more than I ever could, or you might not even have the strength to go on. But what a waste of my time, even if I wrote these words across the sky or carved them into the ocean waves, they would vanish without anyone noticing. Because the rich will never understand the sorrow of the poor.