The stars glisten and I,
I think of something irrelevant.
Something more temporary than a shooting star,
something on my mind,
but not in my heart.
I lift my head on a different axis,
and I wonder,
if you see these stars,
what do you think of?
You who has nothing,
you who is stuck in a third world country,
you who lives in a sub-sufficient world,
where everything is on the rocks
and nothing is certain.
You who can’t tell
the dollar from the euro.
You to whom it doesn’t matter,
not because you’ve never been taught to read,
but because you’ve got no pocket for change.
Your pocket’s been torn and that hole,
that black,
black,
hole,
is sucking the life out of you.
You don’t care for the dollar or the euro,
you want the thing that’ll make you see tomorrow
the thing that’ll make the pain go away.
You,
your wants,
your biggest desires,
are the littlest things I have.
And yet I?
I wish for things beyond your imagining.
Why?
Because the world I was raised in
validates it,
but yours,
yours doesn’t.
But if you’re on this planet
and so am I,
why am I on this side,
and you on the other?