Bread Turns Him Dead. Poem by The Artist

A Death
Bread turns him dead,
The final decision of his life has been taken,
An anonymous voice to his soul said,
“Thou shalt restest in hell, for thou art abandoned in heaven”
His body turned pale and weak,
His eyes wistful and so bleak!

The poor man struggled to get some folly bread,
And Irony it is, for the thing he craved for killed him ahead,
Life ended at youth slaying the young man’s unfantasized dream,
He just wanted a drop of water and a ray of sunbeam.

The earth was his coffin and the sky his blanket,
No men were there on his death to regret,
No men for him in sorrow wept,
Alone from his childhood he was kept.

The good shepherd didn’t give his sheep some grass,
He is unjust with his sheep,
And rakishly just let it pass,
A thought to be thought so deep.
The poor man was just one of thousands,
Thousands living in misery,
Thousands who in their short meaningless errands
Called life: fighting solitary!