Demolished Dreamland

ornated with pieces of pride,

glittering within the sweat of stress,

as he marched ahead of the giggling man,

carrying in his arms, what seemed to him—

as heaven seems to Atlas;

as the art seems to artist;

as the fragrance seems to breeze;

as heritage seems to a clan;

as culture seems to a country;

as sacrifice seems to a soldier;

as philanthropy seems to an altruist;

wrapped in a cardigan weaved of dignity,

with esteem embroidered, empathy enchanted,

over it; marking the birth of hero,

of his dreamlandish fantasies,

who was none but him.

and me? I was a passerby,

holding several "heavens" like he did,

but my dreamland deserted,

cardigan carved into rags,

which I spent each, on wiping,

the flowing ruins of dreams from my eyes,

to me, art, culture and philanthropy were legends,

'cause my sacrifice was legendary, but not seldom,

to me, I wasn't atlas,

I was just a man,

carrying a bag back from shopping.

~KSR