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Hobo. [Redux Revision v.2] (Free verse) by SupremeDreamer
These yellow sun-bleached weeds bend
with the wind as I sit here perched,
ascetic-like upon my bulky tramp pack,
posited off on the side of a freeway off-ramp
in the shade of a rumbling overpass.
My spirit is consumed, wholly entranced by the
crescendoing roar of late afternoon traffic.
Grimy hands hold out a dirty cardboard sign
that declares to all my state of poverty,
imploring them to show pity and be charitable--
eagerly awaiting the next generous handout
while inwardly praying for the final arrival
of sweet oblivion.
This beard of mine has reached the Moses state;
my hair resembles that of John the Baptist
when he returned from the trials of the wilderness.
The stillness which possesses me as I idle here,
amidst the arrhythmic pulse of traffic, must be
what the ascetics must have felt-- Wooden rice bowls
cusped within their wizened beggars hands, frail bodies
strewn about the Buddha palm fields of ancient India.
This is what the fates have finally reduced me to;
yet the arduous path I've traveled has taught me
to endure the elements along with my misfortune,
while waiting patiently for the things I seek to
find their way to me rather than wasting strength
chasing after them in vain.
Zen shall be realized when I behold the awestruck
'n contorted face of a yuppie as he observes me
drinking the same over-priced mocha latte he does
while basking in the glow of my wifi-enabled laptop.
Fuck him with his judgments. Fuck this sick land
with its deathly aura and accurst Indian graveyards--
skeletal remains of the greedy cannibalism of capitalism.
Fuck you who looks down on me with eyes of condescension;
when Rome falls you'll be consumed and enslaved
while I'll finally be redeemed and set free.