Not with gratitude but with a silent snickering

Unfortunates hiding in the shadows mock them

Knowing that collective guilt not compassion

Brings them to the slums with dubious gifts

An underworld economy thriving beneath

Happiness defined not by worldly wealth

But in the fun of stickball in the streets

In the simplicity of breaking crusty bread

Dancing to the beat of homemade drums

The pulling of a baby at a mother’s breast

A beautiful sunset on a hot summer night

Listening to the heartbeat of the metropolis.


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