The Question Of Value Poem by prince ndeserua

The Mind asks:

Who truly knows the sun
the one who walks beneath it by day,
or the traveler of the night
who stumbles through darkness,
longing for its light?

For the traveler of the night
suffers under shadows,
dreams of warmth,
and honors the sun as salvation.
Yet the one who walks in daylight complains:
the sun burns,
it makes us sweat,
it is cruel, it is useless
blaming the very light
that gives life.

Who understands the worth of work
the one employed and weary,
or the one unemployed,
dreaming of purpose?

Who knows the meaning of love
the one held in an embrace,
or the one alone,
aching for a name to call home?

Who understands money
the one whose pockets are full,
or the one whose hands are empty?

These questions trouble me.

The jobless swear,
'If I ever find work,
I will never play with it.'
Yet the employed call labor a burden.

The lonely heart bleeds in silence,
promising devotion
to a love not yet found.
Yet those who are loved
often gamble with affection.

The poor respect every coin,
count blessings in small amounts.
The rich toss money carelessly,
forgetting its weight.

So tell me
who truly knows the value of a thing?
The one who has it,
or the one who does not?

Heart, slow down.
You claim wisdom,
but fail to let her go.
She is distant,
distant in everything.

Mind, be still.
I demand an answer.

And the Heart replies:

Why can you asking,
without hurting me,
yet tear open wounds I try to hide?
Do not speak of distance—
she is not far.
She lives with us,
not in our hands,
but in memory.

Those without
understand value,
because pain is their teacher.
Those with
see only flaws,
and think of use,
not gratitude.

This is the truth.

If you wish to know more,
meet me in the book of my life,
in the poem I continue to write
from childhood
to this very moment.

This ground is too small
to hold everything I carry.
Words trip over themselves here,
meanings spill beyond the edge.

So let us meet
in the book of my life,
in my poem
where you and I play together,
where you dance
to the rhythm of my breath,
to the beat of me.