The life of a peasant

Even though life was horrible,

Breathing was a battlefield

And eating was a means to survive.

In a place built to kill dreams,

She denied herself fantasy

And worked tirelessly

Just to put a meal

In her starving baby.

She lived in a shack

With broken door handles

And a life so cold,

In winter nights

And too dangerous too bare,

With doors that cannot be locked.

So she prayed for protection

And felt so much compassion

Towards the Lord, each night.

This is not my thinking

This is reality

So please pay attention.

All I’m saying is

She was a victim of reality,

But we never choose it..

Who would choose

To live in poverty?

She told me only one thing;

A vision of her future

And the end of all her suffering.

She said she is merely preparing

For a place called ‘Heaven’.

She said it has better beds

And far better houses.

She said the neighborhoods

Are not filled with murderers souls

And slick thieves,

And everyone shall be very wealthy.

She said if we pray hard enough

And live a life of justice,

When we die we shall go there.

Where we shall truly be free.

I can’t say I believe,

But I believe if such a place

Does actually exist

Then it forms the ultimate solution

To the social injustice we are facing,

And it is where I also would want to be.