Salt of the Earth

It is people like you Who make people like me. To want to live on. If alone to be there When people like you Need people like me To live on too. So I went to The market place Called humanity shopping; Shopping for something Something special; Special and valuable. I asked for salt. The seller tells me. “Finished” I said: “Why? Where can I get it?” She said the woman That supplies her salt was out of stock. She said the woman Had told her The market where she Gets salt was no more. It has been bombed By those who play With bombs as if They are fireworks. It is people like us Who make people like you Want to live on If alone to be there When people like us Need people like you To live on too. So I ran to The white man’s church I met the black man Put there to do his bidding. I asked him “Holy father, where are The salt of the earth?” He looked at me and said “What are you talking about?” I said the holy book says We are the salt of the earth. He looked away and snorted “Oh that! Well, We have no more salt left here.” “Where then can I find some salt?” I asked. He replied in agony “Go elsewhere son, I guarantee you won’t find any here.” It is someone like you Who makes someone like me. So I went to the streets I saw a beggar boy Begging for alms at The road side. I pitied him but I walked past him Like the reverend in his colourful cloak Like politician in his posh jeep Like the teacher in his thoughtfulness And like the preacher in his pretense. I looked back again as I passed I saw a poor man Throw the beggar boy Some coins But the money in my pocket Was for salt. For the salt of the earth. It is someone like me Who makes someone like you. So you, like me, continues Like so in this treachery Called society.