When I broke for a smoke

After keeping my burdensome head on the pillow of dreams
I think of my right side, that's Atlantic Ocean
And the other side Pacific.
But I am not a diver.
I touch the soil of old Red Indians the native,
Geranimo comes to my mind one of the tribal leaders, my great grandfather's friend.
And my brother always say this is the land of opportunity
A beggar turns a millionaire in a second.
Dear brother, I just want to die peacefully and nothing else
But it seems a Casket is more expensive than the life here.
I collect coins in my piggy till
But I take them back when I broke for a smoke.

*
' I called out only two words I could think of English, Go away!
I mean for the children to come, I was longing to touch them.'
[Poet unidentified]

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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