There is nothing much to say.
He is the poorest man alive.
A pauper's grave awaits his demise.
He has nothing to sell,
No one to con.
The price was too high
And his product invariably
Went up in smoke.
We watch as he shuffles past:
Rags, skin and bone,
And we think to ourselves,
Times are hard mate,
And you should have known
In a land where virtue is sold
In exchange for some breadcrumbs
There is no market
For luxury commodities
Like dreams anymore.
© Sandisile Tshuma MMVI
He is the poorest man alive.
A pauper's grave awaits his demise.
He has nothing to sell,
No one to con.
The price was too high
And his product invariably
Went up in smoke.
We watch as he shuffles past:
Rags, skin and bone,
And we think to ourselves,
Times are hard mate,
And you should have known
In a land where virtue is sold
In exchange for some breadcrumbs
There is no market
For luxury commodities
Like dreams anymore.
© Sandisile Tshuma MMVI
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| Day Sleeper by Rory Adityawan |
So beautiful and yet very haunting. It is so regrettable that dreams are a luxury for so many. Thank you for putting it into words so effectively!
ReplyDeleteYour words set a blaze to all the things I loathe in writing: verbose, pretense and un-originality. Enjoyable indeed! Simple but potent!
ReplyDelete@Bethany, I agree. It really is a tragedy that something that comes so naturally to the human being can only be enjoyed by a few.
ReplyDelete@Fukzah, thank you so much. I hope you will keep popping in and I hope you won't be disappointed!