Pointer Poem by Poet Of Perception

Walking down the road
I notice a man in ugly robes
like a bullet I shoot my pointer
making the world notice his ugly derriere
but unknown to me, three fingers point back at me
reminding me, that I am no couture material either.

I see a man performing on the street
to make his two ends meet
and once more my pointer
points at his stupid mockery
but unknown to me, three fingers point back at me
reminding me, that while he earns his own bread
my stomach's fill hangs on someone else's thread.

Once again my travel is cut short
by the sight of a man walking with a cane
and before I know my pointer has risen again
joking on this man's fate's treason
but unknown to me, three fingers point back at me
reminding me, that if I had to endure the pain with which he walks
I would have surely let my life rot.

On the street are seated urchins
accepting alms's from a man doing his day's good
and once again my pointer points
mocking on the lord for flaunting his riches to the world
but unknown to me, three fingers point at me
reminding me, that he gives away half of what he earns
whereas I hide my wealth from the world in pots and urns.

For each finger, I point at another man
three have been pointed back at me
reminding me that for every one mistake I point in another
three are there in me.