Tuesday, December 13, 2005

A Plebeian Dream

From the land of yellow dust
Where the air is redolent of nostalgia
And everyman hides sorrow in his breast
Comes a soul with a bag filled with paraphernalia.
He meets me at the local mart
Tired but in his motives – steadfast.
He says he is looking for a place
To bury his sorrows and quietly efface.

So we sit at the local joint
Eat chicken and while our time.
From the conversation I learn
That he met an accidental death,
Left behind two daughters, a son
And a grief stricken wife on bed.
He says he had a dream once but…Alas!
It still hangs on the clothesline in his backyard.

Saddened, I offer him my humble abode -
A place where he may freely spread his soul.
He politely refuses, seeking one last desire -
If only the bag could meet his fate on the funeral pyre.
I tumble the bag to find a crumb of bread,
Torn job ads, matinée tickets, few unhealed wounds,
And an old woman’s photograph, perhaps like him, dead.

© Dan Husain
April 26, 2005


Anonymous said...

beautiful and touching :) btw, i'm back to where i was. only i might not be as regular as i was before :)

Blue Athena said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Michael said...

ur poetry and your prose remind my of Khalil Gibran's style of writing. And i mean it has the highest compliment i can possible give someone. The way you guys pick up something thats too normal for us to notice, than use such beautifully eloquent words to explain it. There's beauty,there's depth, as well as clarity.

Free Spirit said...

This made me so sad...

Your work is beautiful. It can evoke strong emotions.

And I am still sad...

shyloh said...

Thank you for your comments.

I really love this. What thoughts I have reading this. You did an excellent job.