Beside a pot of coffee
lies my weekend paper,
I sit and pour myself a mug
spread out the daily on the rug.
There is the story of a woman
who lost two children in a fire,
a priest who claims he is Jesus,
a politician who says he's not a liar,
a man who's made of millions
says he started as a pauper,
and a tramp who lost billions
says stay away from buying copper,
a dog who lost his hind legs
gets a free transplant operation,
while a blind girl sits on the waitlist
asks for mercy before her examinations
As I sip my cup of coffee
I seek no explanation
for my conscience does not stab me
for what do I gain from accusations?
My maid washes my window
while her toddlers pays his dues
as she stopped his schooling last week
he earns by shining my shoes,
and if he does a good job
I shall pay him a fiver when its over
I shall be generous when I feel like
let him rummage through some leftovers
As I sip my cup of coffee
I seek no explanation
for my conscience does not stab me
for what do I gain from accusations?
As I step into the Monday office
I find you with a similar paper
while we tidy our cubicle together
we chat idylly about the weather
as we drift through the weekend topics
the state of the country grips our imagination
and we gulp down our lattes in utter indignation
As I sip my cup of coffee
I seek no explanation
for my conscience does not stab me
for what do I gain from accusations?
No comments:
Post a Comment