Chained to Hard Earth

I’ll never have the good luck

Of traveling in an aeroplane

All my life it has been a lowly

Public bus or a republic train

I am tied to the hard earth’s soil

By the poverty gravitational chain!              

I have no roof to call my house

Not a cheap car my own to call

No cash in purse to buy what I like                         

The morsels I survive on are dole                 

O rosy dreams hover not over me

To catch one my status isn’t tall!                   

I seek pleasure in other places

In the wee flower on the mead

In a little bird’s song on the tree

And in a little insect underneath

In a twinkling star in the far sky

And in the garden’s sprouting seed!           

Xavier Bage

Wed, May 11, 2016