I stopped caring.
A view of the world outside
escapes my morning eyes.
I eclipse you.
A view of the world outside
reveals wire frame in black.

The sky is wide. I'm just beneath heaven.
Have you ever felt as close to god there?
On the Earth turned cement dry?
In the dregs where lines divide?

I stopped caring.
A view of the world outside
escapes my morning eyes.
I eclipse you.

I regret that I see lines, instead.
One triangle on its head, risen
above the sun, above the moon.
The sight of you, deprived,
drives me back inside.

----------------------------------------------

Felt mostly alone.
Never deprived.
Unhappy with life,
still overjoyed.
My mama stole my name.
My sister got her's took.
Pass the line from child
hood into adulthood,
looking like,
I know, I'm sure I know
I can't owe you money, yet,
I've never lived
on my own.

That's still true, too.
Don't know the sound of silence,
so when it's been most quiet
staying with roommates,
I take my chance at pretend.
I wake up dying, laughing
and crying at ghostly degrees
floating with motes of dust
on the sunbeams
crossing my mattress
in the living room.

Felt mostly alone.
Uneducated.
Contented by kicking cans, though.
Contented in stinky briefs,
and the shirt that's food
for my closet moths,
looking for cheap ways
to express the illness,
the anger I hide.

I believe, that some use our backs
for stacking currency. For work.
Invisible work, deep under the radar,
pack mule to their nickel,
fifty-*******-cent pieces
and dimes.

I'm staring at pennies
they leave me to roll,
already rolling, like
they expect me to catch up.
The secret is:
they want it
so badly --

So game over. I ain't playing
no more, when the piece I play
climbs the backs of friends,
my brethren of the low-low,
one space at a time, with dice
cooked, favor to snake eyes

I'm not chasing pennies
if I'm so close to the floor
I'll always be carpet,
I'll part the lint and braid
to love what is free.

I'll always be base
to love what is free.

Neon lights; they're taking away my rights,
advertising so bright, only capitalism in sight.
Slaving away, to make ends meet each day,
creditors barely at bay, with the same thing they always say:

"You're indebted to us,
we manipulated your trust,
and now we own you; head, feet and bust,
but it's your life and wallet that we lust."

Constant bills, money has lost all of it's thrills,
no heat; you freeze and chill, then starving; being poor kills.
Yet still it seems so, they think you have the money to blow,
on the pointless things for show,
or on knowledge you will never know.

So tell me when will it stop?
When will the prices drop?
The well's dry and farms lack the crop,
the economy is doomed to flop.
From the advertisers, the supersizers,
the colonizers, the demonetizers.

Going to pray, that I survive another day,
to light a candle to show the way, but for the light I have to pay.
Now it seems to me, that Heaven is meant for the wealthy,
and our lives; a shopping spree, in this Hell we get for free.

So tell me how long will it be,
until Jesus' sandals are Nike,
and his **** cloth is Gucci,
and they trademark the word "Holy."

So tell me how long will it be,
until Jesus' sandals are Nike,
and his **** cloth is Gucci,
and praying will cost a service fee.

She held a heap of firewood
Atop her tender head
Walking down the narrow road
That led to her hamlet.

That old banyan tree couldn't
Allure her with its shade
Nor the burning sideways
Could force her pace to jade.

No sign of sorrow, grief or pain
As quiet as she could be
Would death alter her calm
Or would it set her free.

Prashant Shaurya ©

All Rights Reserved

I thought you were poor
Now I know
What's the difference

Hence,
I feel rich
And lost

She sits in a castle made of glass,
and waits for the guard bellow to pass.
Then slowly, she lets down her hair
and climbs down gently with some care.

Finally, her feet can touch the cold stone.
So she walks and walks till she hears a groan:
It was a wrinkled man; helpless and old;
beaten and poor but heart made of gold.

She bent down and sat there on one knee,
then played with her hair to earn some money.
Slowly but surely the money came pouring in
and, for a long time since, the old man was no longer thin.

324 square miles

and 94 vacant

we build up our city to great lengths

but the majority of our population

poor, impoverished black families

cannot afford to eat at a tapas bar art gallery