Poverty has no definition. Not in any sociological sense. Once you face the human bones and the malnourished, any aesthetic value disappears. And with the one in agony, your own agony takes shape. The sourly tears are not for others’ pain but for your own disillusion and failure. For all the answers you hoped to get, and did not. Nothing sublime, genuine about the human nature, once the spirit is dead.
Poverty is always a matter of contrast. As the hungry has no sense of fullness when there is no water, no food to share. The poor are never unhappy. I am unhappy in the poor’s place as they can make the difference between the world’s emptiness and my dry throat. No freedom exists in poverty and no real understanding of the truth.
Once the poor are full, they do have time for questions.