The room was warm
and the lights were bright
fully clothed in designer clad,
I sat at the freshly waxed table
planning to write a new poem.
Upstairs my two children
slept soundly under orchid
and ylang - ylang scented covers.
whisked into sleep by warm
sweet soothing milk.
Beside me three empty beer cans-
The spoils of a privileged birthplace
surrounded me.
In my perfect warm house,
My appeased pleased mind,
was able to feel guilt for the poorer kind.....
...As I sat at the table taking time to
perfect the poem.
A starving child had died.
An Aids ridden child had died.
A freezing child had died.
A sex slave child had died.
A mother, father, son and daughter
had been murdered for their home.
It is easy to feel pity for those who are suffering
when you have everything.
The time, the money, the food the warmth.....
So there I sat sipping my beer,
smoking my cigarette,
thinking of those that suffer,
and what takeaway dinner I should get.
Then My lover called from the next room
telling me that 'price dropp T.V' was
selling playstations for $45
jumping up I left behind my thoughts of pity
and left them to die with another child.
This should 'hit' us all Vincent, we all have a 'self centered' part of us, and yet we cannot individually save the world and it's people. A very good write. Well done. Love Ernestine XXX
Honest! I like it. A couple of typos (privileged+Cigarettes) ...'A(n) AIDS ridden...' 'had been murdered for (their) home.' 'telling me that 'price dropp T.V. (was) selling...' Good poem, however. L
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It's thoughtful, Vincent, and it's well expressed. There was a philosopher named Simone Weil, I think that was it, after WW 2, who empathized with starving people so much that she wound up starving to death, at least that's the story I've heard. It is quite a paradox that, to quote an example someone used, one person uses his time choosing just the right Italian marble for his swimming pool, while another combs the mean streets for a bite of garbage. A sensitive person has to search very deeply for a key of understanding to allow one to go on living, if he/she is even relatively 'well-placed'-go on living, without guilt, shame, or complacency.