The rag picker dressed in shabby rags
Stretches his grimy arm for plastic bags
Rummages for bits and pieces of treasure
His grimy face wreathed in absolute pleasure.
What has he found in the dumpster, overflowing?
Ah, why is his dirty face suddenly glowing?
With a triumphant fist he thumps the noxious air
Avoiding a flashily dressed teenager’s sinister stare.
An emaciated beggar woman kisses her son
Listlessly chewing on the remnants of a bun.
Standing outside a crowded MacDonald joint
Moaning with the pain in her femur joint.
Perched on high horses, demagogues banter
And then their horses gallop away at a canter
To become part of the world half –crazed
By the plight of the common man unfazed.
The teenager throws a contemptuous look
At the rag picker, who to him, looks like a crook
On its axis, the imbalanced world keeps turning
The high-ups un-bothered at humanity burning.