Under the sky

You lay quietly on the mat.

Those you despise have gone ploughing

You complained about shower

They have gone reaping.

Chains of poverty has erupted your ego,

Spanking your thigh in regrets.

You now seat among puppies feeding from the Breast,

Gazing with the flock,entwined with bees.

Like vagabond your legs are sore,

Peeling away your root.

Your voice has become harsh.

The nobles hate your present.

You are like ashes left under the rain,

Like birds chirping in the forest,

With no desire to fly away..

veggies shrink at your approach,

Rivers stop flowing

The sun has become dime

Your paths has swallowed them up.

Remove the garment of laziness,

Poverty will fly away.

Stop complaining,

And you shall reap,

Under the sky..

PoetRuth

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