STILL DEAD
A penny drops, Ting..Ting..
Ting
Into my pocket; into my
head.
Sound of two copper coins.
The sound of my survival.
Waiting is the game; waiting
For that sound.
Still I rise and head there
To give my sweat.
To feed their dreams, to
Fatten their ambitions.
To beguile their cashbox, to
regale their sympathy.
I am made to feel
privileged. Living under a
lucky star. A job.
As the month’s summit, I
look forward to the sound of
copper coins.
Tongue out, I salivate and
Gravitate towards the
source, pockets widely open.
One moon to the next.
Elnino falls, it gets cold and
hopeless.
I get scared, embedding
myself further into
decorating their dreams.
I beg and stick; emotions
Run high.
Yet, I hold ground. The
Modern Roman soldier.
My dreams neatly corked
Into my bottle shaped heart
From all the weight.
I am all the more
unconscious.
That with every penny
sound.
Ting..Ting..Ting
They buy my dreams, my
passions. I make theirs.
When I have the courage to manufacture mine?
Everyone has theirs.
STILL ALIVE
A penny drops…. Ting…Ting..
Ting…
Into my pockets; into my
Head.
A penny means success,
A penny shouts joy.
While the others go about their endeavors,
Staying alive and making money is all I need.
I run around the places,
Accumulating as much as I can,
Here I have 10 jobs; there I have 50 investments,
Still alive and yes, am breathing,
Making them drop in my pocket is all that I aim.
I have fed dreams, I have brought satisfaction,
I have sold quality, I have made networks,
I have catered for my family,
And the needs of the paupers,
So still I am, just like Bill Gate,
Alive and shining,
Waiting for one more penny drop in my pocket.
Who say we can’t fly?
Who says we can’t set up to the satellites?
Who says never?
Alive, I say ever!
I am made to feel
privileged. Living under a
lucky star. A job.
As the month’s summit, I
look forward to the sound of
copper coins.
What can be more fortunate?
Than the copper coins still making their way,
On my pockets while I am alive?
