And the mystical teacher said a story
About a wretched pedestrian and his world of folly
Sat in gutters, in the finest of waters so smelly
Ate himself and drank his sweat to quench thirst
Visited by his friends who licked his sores and drank his pores
His life was no mirage just a beautiful perjury I call misery.
For as life’s strangers we watched with remorse
Turned our faces and looked down with so much pity
One wretched man and his world of folly
Passed us by to hug a long awaiting friend: Death
Sighs of relief as we buried his name to the earth
To count in among fathers and fore-fathers’ mirth
He’s gone, he’s gone a minuscule is gone
Who’s next, death asked, who’s next?
And the mystical teacher continued his story
About the neighbor to the world so poor
Who sat in gold in the finest of robes not ever one that was blur
Ate in peace, and drank voltic waters so pure
Will never feed the wretched with the crumbs was his law.
He watched from the window how life fared the wretched
His life was merry, an awful one with no perjury
We watched again death’s visitation
Who picked this neighbor and his own nation
And found him fire and no air no gutters in his demolition
Now the world turns and asks me
Who shines forth like the potter’s ring
Who is the wretched pedestrian, the one who’s life is not folly?
2011 Copyright Rudolph Naanhoot Adidi