Rich and Poor

The one who bores the bags on sand on the back,
The one who bleeds to the commands of misery,
The one who tears the seeds into trees,
And the one whom upon befallen the sky,
They cry their agony out to their tombs.

The blessed one who bites the fruits of success,
The blessed one whose fame knows no bounds,
The blessed one whom about history writes home,
And the blessed one who owns the fate of others,
Smell they sweetness in the dried blood clots.

Disparities in this world between the rich and the poor,
Omnipresent they were, and are, and will be.

(The photos are the ones I took on my two trips to London of a mannequin that transformed itself in to the two avatars as you may see.)