The Heritage of Hunger

The Heritage of Hunger
 
This city, steeped in heritage,
flows with the ceaseless current of life’s struggle;
its ghosts, undying, unmoving,
play with the flame’s beckon,
gamble with the stake of living.
 
Pride rests only in the hands of the deserving;
they wash the talisman of tradition again and again,
and sip its sanctified water
as if salvation were served in droplets.
 
Glass, stone, and brick—
their caress is an endless game of the Infinite.
From the dust of the city to the jungle’s edge,
men reach the lip of the abyss,
half-mad, demanding not wisdom now
but the plate of rice.
 
At the last line of the pavement,
stands the shameless, the unconquered,
holding life’s heritage like a new spring,
proud of inventions
that make man a tool
and rights a mechanism,
yet never crying out in grief.
 
Civilization’s ruin—
it never dreamt tradition could cause so much harm;
history will mount its back
and ride through unbroken centuries
on the pure current of time.
 
The weight upon its shoulders does not fade;
through machines and concrete
comes the eternal proclamation of its glory:
that intellect and knowledge are noble—
while the city’s disembodied soul
rides upon the chest
of the man who has not eaten.
 
Heritage struts in pride,
pressing holy words to its chest,
clutching the stone of the past—
yet this stomach
asked for nothing more
than two handfuls of food
in this city of tradition.