Jobless

He looked at the lines in his palm,
And wondered if they had any meaning.
The clefts, the wrinkles the crevices:
They must tell tales of his failures.

What could he ever do
To change his destiny?
He was speechless
And didn't understand the language of the lines.

That he would succeed one day,
The sightless pauper had told him.
He had believed him,
Remorse - now he felt - and self-reproach.

His old man had rebuked him
His intentions were foolish.
The poor can dream no dreams,
They're born in garbage and perish in trash.

He had fled, to the big place
To make it his own.
If only the big places had room
for small folk ...

The lines in his palm
Had become less distinct
From lifting heavy freight and cleaning cars,
And praying for a change.

He prayed for a change,
For the lines to be wiped off his palm.
Only if he believed,
Fate also favours those who’ve lost their hands.