Elite

By Konai Held Thaman

He regrets his choice now And wished that he had been More true and down to earth; She was a nobody But she had lived And her hands had the marks Of life.

In the dead of night He remembers His promises, his philosophies The fun time he had With the common people — His type of people; He was one of them then: They drank and swore together; Now he is a different person; He has a new face More serious, more commanding And pregnant with pomp.

But he is no better Than the old man With the torn shirt Spitting his way home From his garden And swallowing the gas-smell Dust on his way; Or the fellers Pushing sand carts Across the torn-up village road.

He hears his lost friends cry ‘Come down to us, we need you’; He aches in the desire to Identify with them again, But it’s too late He cannot be himself again And feels the ground Which weeps for his dismemberment.