Cornmeal porridge

I love poetry. This might be because it is the only form of art that allows free expression. No rules, just heart-pouring. Being a poet, I often find myself thinking about things people never even notice. Yesterday, as I walked to church, I saw this beggar, sitting by the side of the road, whistling people to come close and drop something in his cup.

None came, all of them walked at a safe distance as if they feared he might pounce on their wallets. However, some came closer to the beggar and just as his hopes rose, they passed without looking his way. And I learn’t that those who walked at a safer distance were better that the latter who deposited dusts from there steps into the beggar’s cup.

I stood glued. As he kept calling, I imagined him shaking dust off the cup in while murmuring to himself “if dust was cornmeal floor, i’d have a cornmeal porridge”. And I moved past in steady strides, repeating the rituals of prior passers-by, church was waiting.

7 thoughts on “Cornmeal porridge”

  1. how sad your words
    stick to your convictions
    go back fill his mug

    its hard i know
    to live a lie to survive
    let courage prevail

    life is short enjoy
    have empathy the needy
    want happy too

    if you could see me
    tears rolling down my cheeks
    i cry for humanity

    Take care


    PS Look out for a pingback.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Sadly your actions and of the others could well be correct. Tried and tested; if when approached, you notice ether, a smell of booze, (alcohol), or drugs, then let your kicked up dust fill their receptacle. It is my overall opinion that humanity in general has lost the plot, there are those amongst us that care, and having said that, I must stress, I am not casting aspersions. Best wishes,


    Liked by 1 person

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