That for many – billions – life isn’t

Either easy,

a bed,

a house furnished,

or food in the stomach,

it isn’t

a laugh

an orgasm

or smiles

its hard, like ground constantly, over centuries, pounded.

its sick – like bills that pile up and up and up and up.

It smells of unemployment and underemployment

Of salaries taken away

It feels like sleep on cemented floors

Its about dreams leant to be unlearnt

Above all its about numbness – of the sofa and the tv and the social media –

or of the 8 to 6’s and 8 to 6’s and again those 8 to

6’s

It’s about constant daily defeats induced by debt – life is not an academics essay or a poets poem or a artists film or canvas. It is

a defeat of your poem – never written, of your film- never made, of your painting – never painted.

Because life is this for the billions but for some, a few:

A breeze

An acquired taste

A bouquet

And yoga

A wave of the hand, a trip to the beach, or a scholarship to the US and holidays back and forth,

That it is scented with fruits and salaries

That it feels like metal and ice and wooden steering wheels,

And uncles and aunties in high places,

Because life for them is

Water (imported) garlanded with petals

And for the billions – life is deferred,

Because of this

I believe in class struggle.

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This poem is from Naked Punch 17.  To order a print copy of the issue click here.