a poem

[thetruth]

The poor man sits under the bridge.

He is a ghost, not existing in this world

A city of lights around him, people busy shopping

around him

no food to eat, no water

he is not weak

he is not hungry

no thirst

He pities humanity

no rancor

he is free from all

no sleep

he is not restless

no hate

not controlled

no fear

His independence from others

no slavery

He is free


by me