Living Small Poem by Niki Nicholas Nkuna

Ants liveth their own life,
Conditioned by their faith,
And hold on to dear pot of means,
Choices are within a cage,
Choosing otherwise is forbidden,
Often by imaginary rules,

We are the first victims of any natural disaster,
Living small has lost us the states recognition,
Living small is forsaking the privilege of recognition,
Living small is less ambition,
And hiding from the hustle and bustle of the earth,
Our lives are too small to cause a disruption of normal life,

Work is drudgery, compensation is meagre,
We die in great numbers,
We die in a human chain,
We eat cheap and live the same vulnerable lives,
The visitation of the scourge blights all,

Our means are equal to our boots,
We do not eat everything for today and tomorrow,
We live for today and tomorrow,
Tomorrow is certain to come to our masters,
They know it from the weather man,
We know that science is not equal to anything natural,

We never learn or able to live big,
Living small is our faith,
We live our lives in full,
Our masters live borrowed lives,
They live big and double the big life that takes their breaths out,
They buy big cars and double the big life that takes their breaths out,
They buy and build big houses and double the big life that takes their breaths out,
Their kids look smart, well dressed, have all kinds of smart toys,
In the sink of their parents' ego,

Masters drive big and beautiful cars in water,
Their dwellings are standing in shaky foundations,
Ever so, but not breaking down,
Their hearts severed with worry and envy, little by little,
Blood flowing along the gold gutters,
Lapped up by their second best,
The pieces of flesh filling up the garbage bins to high smells,

Living small is living green,
Garbage bins seldom stink high,
Cheap food, cheap smell,
High purchase, masterful garbage bins,
The middle class trap hole covered by plastic,
Ever so ominous as to caught disaster,
By the disturbance of a cough,
A haunting secret eating the inside of a smile,
As to render the master an empty shell of a hypnotic apparition,

The strike of the python is very close to the strike of bankruptcy,
With the victim starring death in the face,
Hearing the warning whispers of the brain,
Too dump to shift a limb,
High sound of a racing car, descending and abruptly stopped,
An assimilation of the soul abandoning the earthly riches,
Smouldering smoke signalling the rise and sorry ending of the masters' reign,