A city man met with a villager man.

The village man talked about his work in the fields when the city man stopped  him by saying:

“ Do you know that the city people have invented large airplanes that can fly through the air?”

The villager was deeply impressed.

The city man went on “We have got great boats that can cross the oceans”

The villager was even more impressed.

The city man continued “ We’ve got cars on the road that drive at tremendous speed”.

After all,
The villager asked the city man:

“ The man in the city, you are talking about,
Who flies through the air, and moves through the ocean can he still walk on his two legs?”

7 billion lively spirits
7 billion stories in the iris
7 billion is the population of humans in this world
But not 7 billion got humanity to hurl

World parted into two
Parted into two human zoos
Where the brain exists but isn't sensitive
Where biasing people on debris stuff is intuitive

World parted on bottom of the wealth
Privilege to one, poverty to others in stealth
Widening ineffectual separation
Filth full games of oppression

World parted on bottom of skin color and religion
Since when color became dominating and moral teaching became about ill-treating
Since when love chose the place where you're from
And not the story imprinted on your palm

Parting in two segments of goods and bads on both side
Cities will have the "Posh" area and the other ugly side
The probability to find your soulmate might go one by two
As he or she will be on the side of the city divided by you

Save yourself by saving someone.
For that someone may rescue you.

“Do you know, to my thinking it's a good thing sometimes to be absurd; it's better in fact, it makes it easier to forgive one another, it's easier to be humble. One can't understand everything at once, we can't begin with perfection all at once! In order to reach perfection one must begin by being ignorant of a great deal. And if we understand things too quickly, perhaps we shan't understand them thoroughly.”

[Prose poem]

Look at how the wind lifts the snow. It looks like a spirit.
       Maybe I was here, sitting still. Looking at the snow being exhaled, from the rooftops and windowsills. You turn the diaphanous into strings, Your wind the bow, the sight a melody. Maybe the cold and white is purity, like it would seem to be. We die to live. Drop our leaves like vice baggage, and wear new sleeves. You crafted it all so carefully. The art of telling the proud waves to settle, to make an ocean while making seconds, and whiles, and everything.
       And where was I?
Maybe I was here, sitting still.

My feet will stay on the ground
My humbleness will not be gone in the lost and found
It'll still be there when I come around
I take pride in listening to the sound
Of what could be in the crowd
I'll read my thoughts out loud
So I no longer look like a bird who couldn't get out of the clouds
Deer caught in the headlights
That's me with my passion
That's the way it goes
No vibes of empowerment over others
Or vast superiority
Because I took out all the mental soroitys
And told them to shove it
And added new ones instead
Like a kool aid drink that used to be basic water
Same nourishment
Different taste