AT GOD’S DOOR.
The Sun scorches my body,
I shield my eyes with my hand,
Flicking away the black ants,
Which crawl over me uninvited.
The tattered cloth barely covers my nakedness,
I writhe and lie in pain,
The Gods I have resigned to,
Lying in front of His sacred precinct.
A shadow falls over me,
There’s a respite for a while,
I open my eyes to see a towering figure,
Back towards me in black,
Maybe my time has come along,
Was that the God of Death I see?
Was I to be finally relieved,
Of the life of pain and suffering?
I hear the clanging of coins,
Was that a Messiah instead giving me money?
I crane my neck to look beside me,
But there’s no sign of the silver metal.
The striking pain in my neck is back,
Where I hurt myself from that wretched, jagged piece of rock,
I put my head on the ground again,
That figure in black still present.
Alas! The Sun is back on me,
That was a mere mortal,
Pursuing God for problems of his own,
While my life continues to take the life out of me.
Almost every day, I see a poor, old man lying right in front of a religious place (which I refuse to mention because of it’s complete irrelevance) and many people like me pass him by with our own problems raging in our heads. I’m not proud of it. At all.