The Beggar

Our hands are tied. But one of us has nothing to loose…
A piece by Monalisa

Standing at your door step
When I claimed a pinch of my freedom
I rivaled filth and dirt.
Then I pondered
In the moment
That is this god’s world
Where there is abundance of wealth
But of virtue
There is dearth.
You spend extravagantly
On the chattels that
Bring you ease.
You fearfully feed the predators
Preying your peace.
But when I ask in the name of god
I wonder why your hands
In your pockets freeze
And yet you do not let god escape your diction.
There is constant finger rosary friction
I can’t tell
Which flabbergasts me more
Your self-centeredness or your masquerade
And utter pretension.

I am a slave
But know that  you
Are one as well.
I pity you
Slavery was thrust upon me
But you voluntarily
Chose it for yourself.
I am a slave to hunger
I am shackled by poverty.
You chose to serve your selfishness
Your undying vanity.