Between Stones and Rivers
I often wonder
how the poor, despite different starts,
are shaped toward the same uncertain end.
Their inner machinery strains for survival,
though their journeys differ.
Roads cracked with jolts and sudden drops
test the strength of resolve.
The miseries of the voyage
hollow the mind’s quiet chambers.
They must cross steep and stubborn mounds,
yet often find themselves
forced onto the same narrow path of escape.
Life rarely unfolds as imagined;
unforeseen hardships test their courage.
Responsibility clouds the edges of decision.
A weary mind burdens the body—
until the body yields, in silence.
What they hold in abundance
are children—
while education remains distant,
like a door closed before dawn,
breeding quiet storms within.
The rich, meanwhile,
move in circles drawn by comfort.
Their choices steady the mind
in patterns shaped by security.
Like lions certain of dominion,
their confidence rarely trembles.
They feast on the ripe fruits of assurance,
seldom sensing the hunger beyond their gates.
For in this divided land,
no heart is cast from lesser clay—
yet years of wind and weather
teach the roots how far to reach.
The earth remembers every season:
some fields drink from quiet rivers,
others learn to bloom
between stones.
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