“The living men that I hate,
The dead man that I loved,
The craven man in his seat,
The insolent unreproved”
-W.B. Yeats, The Fisherman
Through the smudged glass of the bus window, a stuffed sleeping bag comes into my sight. The figure is nestled under the tiled walls of a fancy store with plush bright materials in the display. There is a cardboard sign beside it. It reads: “I prefer food and drinks to money…”. The bus starts moving again, leaving the sentence unfinished in my head.
What makes one superior or inferior to others? We are all from the same planet, yet we box each other in hierarchies, attempting to escape the reality: we are all equally earthlings.
Under the velvety clothed mannequins, in front of the thousand dollar price tags, a body lies, a paper cup full of silver coins beside him.
A mannequin, with no life, wrapped in the arbitrary fibers of wealth.
A man, with life in every fiber, wrapped in rejections of earthly wealth.
Can anybody answer the nagging question: why?