All my life to pretend this world of theirs is mine
And to know such pretending is disgraceful.
But what can I do? Suppose I suddenly screamed
And started to prophesy. No one would hear me. 
Their screens and microphones are not for that. 
Others like me wander the streets
And talk to themselves. Sleep on benches in parks,
Or on pavements in alleys. For there aren't enough prisons
To lock up all the poor. I smile and keep quiet. 
They won't get me now. 
To feast with the chosen—that I do well.

Added: Feb 21 2003 | Viewed: 761 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Czeslaw Milosz
Poem: Not Mine

There are no comments for this poem. Why not be the first one to post something about it?

Are you looking for more information on this poem? Perhaps you are trying to analyze it? The poem, Not Mine, has not yet been commented on. You can click here to be the first to post a comment about it. Of course you can also always discuss poems by Czeslaw Milosz with others on the Poetry Connection poetry forum!