In his arrogance, he though he could enslave me with his gold.
Throwing a pocket of gold into the air, he bought an hour of my rest for hard labour! In his
idiocy, he thought my sleep was for sale.
The market was infested with buyers and sellers. Good
citizen of Rome and foreigners from as far as China.
The pocket flew on air sprinkling some gold on the ground. My
hair rose straight, head burned hot, tears streamed out of my eyes. I am slave to this ruthless, stingy capitalist! Rome has its rule but like any
worthless rules of any other city, they are written and not forced or practiced!
I wondered about those leaders who feigned being just and loved by people! Have
they passed through the alleys of their markets where their portraits hanged at
every corner! Have they witnessed the citizen as they were mistreated, or do they just write false story their success!
The pocket of gold fell onto my nose! I knew I was a slave!
Slave not of his money! I have labored not for him but for me! Unlike of those
who were sold and bought in the market, I knew I had an option. But rejection would
mean sleeping for an hour but a step backward! It would jeopardize my mark! I
was Slave, I was certain, not of him but to my needs!
He was a master of an
hour and the day! Perhaps the master of the month and that follows it. But I am a free man. For a little while, he could use
me as his slave undeterred not by the rules of Rome, Mercy or Humanity. But for the same rime I would use
him as a tool for reaching my intent undeterred by his ruthlessness, misery and
arrogance! I was not his slave but slave of my need and that is slavery of a free man!
