Monday, July 5, 2010
I am a Juan dela Cruz
From a country that looks
Like an old man with a broken back
And my day is always in decline.
I spend my day in the trash
And search for food no rat would eat.
Yet, with no pity,
Arrogant eyes look down on me
And blame me, curse me,
belittle the struggle I often face.
They spit on my image- a body
covered in grease and filth.
They could no longer dirty me,
If I have arms I will rebel,
but then, my weapons can
Barely defeat the dinner table.
Then again, they lack the creativity
I posses, if they eat like me,
They'd be dead.
http://allpoetry.com/Life%20Messenger
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