Salt of the Earth

It is people like you
Who make people like me.
To want to live on.

If alone to be there
When people like you
Need people like me
To live on too.

So I went to
The market place
Called humanity shopping;
Shopping for something
Something special;
Special and valuable.

I asked for salt.
The seller tells me.
“Finished”
I said:
“Why? Where can I get it?”
She said the woman
That supplies her salt was out of stock.

She said the woman
Had told her
The market where she
Gets salt was no more.
It has been bombed
By those who play
With bombs as if
They are fireworks.

It is people like us
Who make people like you
Want to live on
If alone to be there
When people like us
Need people like you
To live on too.

So I ran to
The white man’s church
I met the black man
Put there to do his bidding.

I asked him
“Holy father, where are
The salt of the earth?”
He looked at me and said
“What are you talking about?”
I said the holy book says
We are the salt of the earth.

He looked away and snorted
“Oh that! Well,
We have no more salt  left here.”
“Where then can I find some salt?”
I asked.

He replied in agony
“Go elsewhere son,
I guarantee you won’t find any here.”


It is someone like you
Who makes someone like me.

So I went to the streets
I saw a beggar boy
Begging for alms at
The road side.

I pitied him but I walked past him
Like the reverend in his colourful cloak
Like politician in his posh jeep
Like the teacher in his thoughtfulness
And like the preacher in his pretense.

I looked back again as I passed
I saw a poor man
Throw the beggar boy
Some coins
But the money in my pocket
Was for salt.
For the salt of the earth.

It is someone like me
Who makes someone like you.

So you, like me, continues
Like so in this treachery
Called society.