Who are they?

Who are they?

Who is the beggar?
    The prince in tattered clothes.
Who is the slave?
    The king stripped of his crown.
Who are the dead?
    The silent people on the streets.
Who am I?
    The author walking down busy roads.
No, who am I?
    The person. Shot, burnt, reviving again.
    To scorn.

—–

The above poem was written by me after I read “Some Last Questions” by W. S. Merwin. It was something fun to write, and a copy of Merwin’s format in “Some Last Questions”.

Just in case you want to read the Merwin’s poem,

Some Last Questions

What is the head
  A. Ash
What are the eyes
  A. The wells have fallen in and have
       Inhabitants
What are the feet
  A. Thumbs left after the auction
No what are the feet
  A. Under them the impossible road is moving
      Down which the broken necked mice push
      Balls of blood with their noses
What is the tongue
  A. The black coat that fell off the wall 
      With sleeves trying to say something
What are the hands
  A. Paid
No what are the hands
  A. Climbing back down the museum wall
      To their ancestors the extinct shrews that will 
      Have left a message
What is the silence
  A. As though it had a right to move
Who are the compatriots
  A. They make the stars of bone

- W.S.Merwin