#pickers
Today, I met the son of a rag picker.
working at a landfill talks about a Biogas tomb,
but does not know that he sits on a methane bomb.
Talks about the suffering of animals, while he suffers from toxins,
redeems every moment of his life for indefinite sins.
Shoves through the rotten corpses and befriends the scavengers,
he wears a stained Spencer and soiled wayfarers.
His eyes are jaundiced, given the stench,
climbs the dirt, while his body starves but his hands are hench.
He looks curiously at my white glowing skin,
laughs at my soft palms throbbing on a dustbin.
He burns the crap, and high goes the flame,
snuffs out his little life, with this every day precarious game.
He bathes in sewer and eats near the crap,
he talks of the other day when he fell off the fill and his leg got snapped.
He is sliced at places and stabbed for stealing ***
he earns his bread while others of his age mug a shot.
Authorities for his welfare complain about the aroma,
he worships this place as his life’s dogma.
Someday I wish may he smell the green grass,
wear a uniform and attend the chemistry class.
Prejudice he may, for the upcoming generations,
who spend a summer day carrying out these gnarly operations.
May fair go his skin and clean run his blood,
he is the saving grace, my new stench bud.
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 3:06 AM UTC
the motionless air hung heavy
with late summer heat
at a distance a woman's voice in song
the rich sound reaching for your heart
with feelings of life lived joyous and bold
i walk the sunsoaked road
to the farm field to find her
where the dusty faces of the pickers greet with smiles
their great baskets filled with the newly picked crop
its thick scent filling the air with intoxicating fresh natural beauty
**** and tangy ripe to the souls tastebuds
they gather round the water spigot
laughing and speaking
a family of strangers
come to harvest the land
they invite me to join them
for the midday meal
so i sit in the shade of a truck
sipping the cool clear waters
eating the thick rich bread and cheese
such people of the earth
their hands worn with its labor
their hearts alive with its loves
such kind souls of the land
sharing their moment with me
the meal done
the baskets for the picking ready once more
they wander back to the field
and she begins to sing once again
as the sweet summer sun lulls me to slumber
her voice a beautiful tapestry woven with her
love of her people and her life
a rich tender sound
she carried me into sweet deep dreams
of the kindness of people who harvest
with their hands and hearts
the bounty's of the earth
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC