I stood in the train and looked around

Gazing at people and listening to sounds

I saw a boy who shuffled by me

He was on a pocket picking spree

I kept a guard on my own and glared at him

He feigned away a limp on a proper limb

I sighed a sigh and thanked the Lord

He’d saved me from an incident, untoward

“What a horrible man!” I said, I thought

A blinding, simmering rage I fought

“People like him who steal to live

the Almighty Lord shall never forgive”

I then looked out at the nature’s glory

Each piece of timber saying a different story

I stepped out of the train in my reverie

Frowning my brows at the sounds and melodies

If he, the boy was a thief, a sinner

What was I, a man, a grim, life wringer?

He stole the things that didn’t belong to him

And I snatched the land and gave it a trim

I slashed the trees, I burnt the thicket

I earned the money and scored a wicket

Now I see her, she has a face, her eyes

They are glistening from her thousand cries

She begs and pleads to let her live, to breathe

While my heart lingers in a callous sheath

This land is hers, the water, the air

And all things around, wondrous and fair

I snatch them all and make them mine

Wrench them, vex them, bind them fine

Kill the soul of the air, the land, the water

Thereby killing her slowly, a gory slaughter

A pick-pocket? A sinning devil indeed

But then, what does that make me?





Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

%d bloggers like this: