Vagrant of 21 street
July 15, 2015 at 1:31pm
Two bottles of water, chex mix and five dollars wrapped in a plastic cvs shopping bag
I convey to a banished man
A man with a dust jacket
A shredded umbrella
And a worn sleeping bag
And he refused
Told me he didn't want it
The grey bearded vagabond
I thought at first was too prideful
Like myself
Like my mother
He wore a pair of tattered shoes
And beside them is where I sat the care package
"Your just gonna do what ever you want, nothing I say matters, like water off a ducks back"
Cried the outcast
You see... Sometime, I can not pinpoint when or where, but I had become decadent, and I lost the ability to emphasize with people.
I never walked the shoes of a unwelcome unsettled disinherited man.
Nor was I able to notice that he was not expressing pride...
Now in my car I am reflecting this encounter
Trying to look at every angle
Because it stung me... Internally
And reveled an externalization of myself.
My intention... My true intention was not to give him nutrients... It was an act I learned from bushido (do good and good will come back to you) and now while dissecting this thought I recognize that even if my intention was as pure as giving him nutrients, I was still as decadent... What I am saying is this,
I don't know what this man needs, and I didn't bother to ask, I just assumed.
I don't think it was pride he was expressing... I think it was shame... I think he was tired of living... His grey beard conceived his time spent in this world, his tearing eyes depict the END...
He didn't want the nutrients... He didn't want to keep surviving... He wanted to die... And I couldn't help him...
Who would mourn his death?
Who would miss him?
Who would notice he passed at all?
And what would become of his remains?
This questions are scratching the back of my skull... And I desperately want to find the answers...
I wanted to know who else besides myself will mourn for the vagrant of 21 street
