Penthouse and grape
Finally I got job
Pizza shop
For a day.
I went to
A penthouse
Entrance was great
Colourful with carpets
Corridors far better
The same its elevator.
Finally door opened
An old man; full dressed.
“Come on in…” he told me
“At the door no signal…”
It was same as the hut
In desert, house of mud
Though designs and décor
Portrait of great.
“Poor is man with his wealth…”
I thought on, my way out
“Lucky is labourer
Eating cheese, and bread, and grapes
No worries that his gold
Silver pot, treasures
May cause him hate, anger
Or even, his murder…”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem