NO sympathy for the impoverished!

“I was not expecting this welcome. It was not the kind of words I was anticipating. They were harsh and unrelenting. I had to laugh, a reaction to the harsh words’ unexpectedness. It was deemed poor to the first son in his golden hat, this crying boy delving into a man’s hat. The tears washed down the cheeks, at first sliding down soft white skin, but falling from creviced tanned hide. His home is no where from safety. Caked and sodden grounds meet weary feet and limbs.

“In a dream the son felt he had been wounded by a great force. The cries were not his, but of those sympathetic towards him. He imagined the day when others would cry as a result of his pain. His dream ends with a ginko tree falling on his home, a stucco variety. He would awaken with no breath, wondering if anyone has had his dream before.

“One day the tsunamis arrived earlier than usual. The son saw no one around to comfort him. The golden hat was gone, but was replaced by a tambourine. Rain fell around the home, the stucco sides bleeding into the earth. He walked to his front gate and held his arms, tambourine in hands, over his head. The tears bled down to mix with the stucco, a hitherto unknown mixture of sadness and compassion. No words were uttered. The music played down from the sky. The setting sun kept my eyes open, and I am gracious.”