| | I sit inside my enclosure-
gloomy windows drawn
to prevent the world
from shattering
my presumed privacy,
and then,
suddenly,
comes a wail,
a plea for mercy
as hands, dirty palms
spread before me
knocking on stained glass,
knocking for entry
into my world of generosity.
Even as the traffic lights
prepare to change
I sit glum
"I know these people" I say.
"They are all frauds" I say again.
The plea goes on and on,
cool breeze blows in
gently,
and I am off,
ignoring the pleas and wails.
Was that a person really in need?
Was my deed indeed faultless?
Check this poem out at Boloji.com
http://cms.boloji.com/index.cfm?md=Content&sd=Poem&PoemID=4864
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