Tick-tock, tick-tock, said the clock
Then I heard the crow of a cock.
I didn’t have to check the window to see that the night had changed into a day.
Then I was set to go.
I left because I had to go.
The sky had frowned to earth.
I could hear its nagging sounds here on earth.
Here comes its tears. What an emotional moment! The lack of sunlight made it even more poignant.
The cry was loud yet calming.
Its tears drenched me, that was so alarming.
I could manage my way to my destination.
But the sad-happy planet kept drawing my attention.
I felt the need to stay.
I was freezing, so I had to pray.
It was a moment that left my heart itching with loads of questions.
I tried my way back home but felt like I was in detention.
How do I survive standing to wait for the happy sky to stop shedding its tears?
It sounds rhetorical, but I said it loud out of fear.
The thought and fear of being homeless engulfed me.
For so many reasons, I know I can’t question nature.
And I cannot but feel for that peasant who sleeps under bridges.
Those that I see as the lack with nothing but hopes of survival.
They are those ladders the wealthy use to reach their riches’ peak.
They only feed from people’s remnants.
Every penny they receive from us, we take it back in multiple folds, either as blessings or in different ways;
Why will I not think of how you survive under bridges?
Cuddled under the warm embrace of an optimistic hope,
lying beside community Trash cans.
“Every person is an important member of society regardless of social status.”
Our deceptive leaders’ songs.
But a peasant’s life has never weighed anything more than a single wrap of a lit weed, which smell and smoke disappear into thin air without any trace,
Just because they are homeless.
Their women become Mr. Freshface’s night wives; on their bodies, he is comforted at night and irritated by day.
Upon Their departure on earth, the body is thrown in a pit and covered to decay.
Why won’t I care?
For poetry and more, visit Mecella.