Fool's paradise

Amidst the ghetto among many,
Amidst the cracksmen, filth and soil,
In a world which is mercenary,
A penniless scrounger ardently prays,
Praying to numb the wound of penury.

A havoc within her plays,
Until it reaches a crescendo,
So loud, it becomes a silence,
The silence, being her only melody
and Hunger, her greatest enemy.

She prays for  misfortune
Of all ruthless Shylocks,
Drinking wine from goblets of gold,
Bejeweled with stones of Amber.
Whilst her grimy hands, tighten
around her borrowed copper cup
with a few rusted silver.

A heart filled with hope, and cracked lips, nearly as white as the moon,
She prays, for a baronial home,
Adorned with the finest tapestry,
And robes of silk, embellished
with laces, prints and blossoms.
And a white shroud, to wrap her up
before joining the elite,
in their opulent catacombs.

The leaking tin roofs pull her,
From the fool's paradise,
But as the city falls to a slumber,
She succumbs to her labyrinth of hope,

Yet again.

Sanchari

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