If you are to rise, learn to descend,
Life doesn’t always bring mountains to ascend.
Decaf, Americano, large – the boss commanded.
Without batting an eyelid, I complied.
I pressed the lift down the coffee shop,
Never letting self-pity gets a grip.
Whispering: “Servitude is an act of love,
Self-talking: “Better yet, it’s paid.”
At the counter, I recited the order,
then a glint of light nearly struck me blind.

Who Am I? Who am I to grumble?
Who Am I? Who am I to be sad?
Who Am I? Who am I to crumble?
When I can afford to eat a $ 2.45 blueberry bar.

While half of Somalis die daily of hunger,
And thousands won’t see the next day’s sun,
If ever the rest survives, they’d live in disease.
Why haven’t I bothered to think of the deceased?

My pride took an icy cold shower.
My self-pity, instantly turned petty.
My self-centeredness abruptly disappeared.
Shame and grace consumed me deep within.