A Simple Sunday

if i were a fly upon the wall

attention...i would not call

tiny bird perched on the second floor

peering at the people down below

every movement i feel and every breath i hear

watching the drunken man saturated in his vomit and drowning in his tears

couples blissful holding hands

grandmas stealing flowers of my landlord´s land

robbers, thieves looking through pockets

if i am to witness, am i too a culprit?

man in pressed blue uniform on the corner rifle embraced

trying to force gaiety into his sad face

school girl singing after a delightful meal

hugging herself protecting herself from the mountain chill

little boys playing soccer, no shoes, juice in hand

laughing and frolicking as hard as they can stand

giggling, nibbling on sweet ears of corn

the young maids, beauty captured in their youth, clothes are old ragged and torn

half conscious, hands outreached toward the dark sullen sky

praying and pleading 'i am worth nothing...Lord save me...i want to die'

then body stiffens as if rigor mortis has set in

the parrallels of the universe

one of innocence...the other perverse

one of pure luck...the other a curse

if i were a fly upon the wall

attention...i would not call

tiny bird perched on the second floor

peering at the people down below

every movement i feel and every breath i hear

watching...

as i hold back my joyful sorrowful tears