When your gaze found mine, the whole world swayed, As if the earth had missed a hidden beat; The sunlight suddenly grew unafraid, Then melted like warm gold around my feet. I tried to look away, but something stayed, A trembling little universe in you; My eyes became two doors I could not close, And every secret seemed to wander through. I felt my cheeks turn roses in the rain, A sudden fire underneath my skin; The stars began to whisper my sweet shame, While little suns kept blooming from within. Your eyes were not just eyes, they were a place, A strange blue room where gravity was gone; I wandered through the silence of your gaze And somehow lost the person I was on. My heartbeat stumbled, then forgot its name, It ran barefoot through corridors of light; I blushed as though the moon had called me beautiful, Then hid my face from heaven's watching sight. The trees leaned closer, jealous of the view, The flowers opened wider just to see; Even the wind became unusually shy, As thoug...
I was born
between two worlds.
On one side,
the houses wore gold around their windows.
On the other,
the windows wore cardboard
around their houses.
Between them
ran a road
so ordinary
that nobody noticed
it was a river.
I walked that river barefoot.
On my left,
men drank sunlight
from crystal glasses.
On my right,
children drank water
from plastic bottles
that had already lived
someone else's life.
And above both worlds,
God was silent.
Not absent.
Silent.
The kind of silence
that makes you wonder
whether heaven is listening
or simply watching
the way the moon watches
a city burn its lights.
I used to think
wealth lived closer to God.
Then I saw a poor woman
break her only loaf of bread
into three pieces,
one for her child,
one for a stranger,
one for tomorrow.
She did not know
tomorrow was coming
empty-handed.
Still,
she saved it a piece.
That night
I understood something
I had never learned
from the rich.
Sometimes faith
is not having enough
and sharing anyway.
But then I entered
a house made of marble.
The floors reflected
the chandeliers.
The chandeliers reflected
the stars.
The stars looked jealous.
There were rooms
nobody slept in.
Tables
nobody ate at.
Closets
full of clothes
waiting for bodies
that had already grown tired
of becoming someone else.
A man stood by the window
looking down at the city.
He had everything
except the one thing
money cannot purchase,
the feeling
that everything is enough.
His hands were full.
His heart was searching
for somewhere to put them.
I almost called him blessed.
Then I stopped.
Because I remembered
the woman with the bread.
Maybe blessing
is not measured
by what the hand can hold.
Maybe it is measured
by what the heart
can still give away.
I have seen poverty
wear holes in people's shoes.
I have seen riches
wear holes in people's souls.
I have seen both worlds
kneel for the same reason.
Fear.
The poor kneel
because tomorrow
might not bring food.
The rich kneel
because tomorrow
might take away
what yesterday gave them.
Different cages.
Same animal.
Same trembling.
Same human heart
beating behind the ribs.
Between the two worlds
I kept walking.
Past a boy
selling fruit beneath a broken umbrella.
Past a woman
stepping from a black car
wearing diamonds
large enough
to remember sunlight.
Past a man
sleeping beneath cardboard.
Past another man
sleeping beneath silk.
Both dreamed.
That surprised me.
The rich man dreamed
his money would never end.
The poor man dreamed
his hunger would.
And somewhere above them,
God dreamed neither.
Perhaps God was dreaming
of something beyond
both hunger and abundance,
a world where nobody
had to prove their worth
with what they owned.
I don't know.
I am only a traveller
between two doors.
One opens
into a room full of gold.
The other
into a room with nothing
but a mattress
and a window.
Some days
I enter the golden room.
Some days
I enter the empty one.
Some days
I am welcomed.
Some days
I am turned away.
Some days
I eat from silver plates.
Some days
I count coins
before buying bread.
And I have learned
not to confuse
the room I'm standing in
with the person I am.
Because rooms change.
Fortunes change.
People change.
Money grows wings.
Poverty grows teeth.
Houses burn.
Businesses collapse.
Inheritance disappears.
A stranger becomes a friend.
A friend becomes a stranger.
The hand that gives today
may need tomorrow.
The hand that needs today
may give tomorrow.
Life keeps turning
the pockets of the world
inside out.
No one keeps
the same contents forever.
I once watched
a rich man give money
to a poor man.
The poor man bowed.
The rich man smiled.
But I wondered,
who was giving whom
the greater gift?
The money bought food.
The gratitude
bought the rich man's sleep.
Neither was free.
Another day
I saw a poor man
give half his lunch
to someone poorer.
Nobody photographed it.
No newspaper came.
No angel descended
with golden wings.
Nothing happened.
Except hunger
became slightly smaller
in two bodies
instead of one.
Maybe heaven
is full of moments
nobody records.
Maybe God's favorite miracles
are the ones
that never become stories.
A hand reaching.
A door opening.
A person saying,
“Take mine.”
Even when
“mine” is almost nothing.
Especially then.
There is a strange thing
about being between worlds:
you begin to see
the ghosts behind both.
Behind wealth
you sometimes find fear.
Behind poverty
you sometimes find pride.
Behind luxury
you sometimes find loneliness.
Behind hardship
you sometimes find laughter
so loud
it shakes the roof.
The rich can be generous.
The poor can be cruel.
The poor can be generous.
The rich can be cruel.
Goodness has never asked
for a bank statement.
Cruelty has never needed
an empty pocket.
We are more complicated
than our circumstances.
And God,
if God is truly God,
must see deeper
than the clothes we wear.
Deeper than the houses
we return to.
Deeper than the numbers
glowing inside our accounts.
Deeper than the hunger
or the abundance.
He must see the person
standing underneath it all.
The frightened child.
The tired mother.
The ambitious father.
The lonely millionaire.
The hungry worker.
The woman counting coins.
The man counting zeros.
All of us,
standing beneath
different ceilings,
looking at the same sky.
Sometimes I wonder
if heaven has no rich side
and no poor side.
Perhaps those are inventions
we carry with us
like passports.
Perhaps when we die
the gold falls from the pockets.
The hunger falls from the bones.
The titles fall from the names.
And we stand there
with nothing
but the shape of our hearts.
What did you do
with what you were given?
Who did you become
when nobody was watching?
Did you step over someone
to climb higher?
Did you reach down
when you finally arrived?
Did you become bitter
because life was cruel?
Or did you become gentle
because you knew
exactly how cruelty felt?
I don't think God promises
that everyone will live
the same life.
The world does not work that way.
Some are born
into abundance.
Some are born
into hunger.
Some inherit houses.
Some inherit debt.
Some inherit safety.
Some inherit wounds
they spend decades
trying to name.
It is not all fair.
I will never call suffering
a gift simply because
someone survived it.
Some things are terrible
and should be called terrible.
But wherever you stand,
there is still a choice
about what kind of person
you will be there.
If you have little,
you can still have mercy.
If you have much,
you can still have humility.
If you are losing,
you can still love.
If you are winning,
you can still remember
those who are behind you.
Perhaps that is
what God wants,
not that we all live
in the same house,
but that we remember
we are all tenants
of the same earth.
The billionaire
and the beggar
both need oxygen.
The king
and the child
both enter the world crying.
The richest person alive
cannot purchase
one additional sunrise.
The poorest person alive
can still look up
and receive it freely.
Morning does not check
your income.
Rain does not ask
what you own.
The moon shines
on penthouses
and corrugated roofs
without discrimination.
The stars have never
learned our class system.
Perhaps God speaks
through that.
Perhaps every sunrise
is heaven saying,
Begin again.
Not,
Become richer.
Not,
Become poorer.
Not,
Become more important.
Just,
Begin.
Wherever you are.
In the mansion.
In the rented room.
In the shelter.
In the palace.
In the village.
In the city.
In the season
where everything is blooming.
In the season
where you are barely surviving.
Wherever you are,
begin there.
Do not wait
for another life
to become worthy
of this one.
I have stopped asking
which world is blessed.
I have stopped believing
gold is proof of God's favor.
I have stopped believing
poverty is proof of holiness.
Both worlds
have saints.
Both worlds
have thieves.
Both worlds
have lonely people.
Both worlds
have people who love.
And God,
if He is anywhere,
must be somewhere
between them.
Walking the same road.
Eating neither gold
nor hunger.
Carrying neither
a crown
nor an empty bowl.
Just walking.
Watching us
cross one another.
Watching the rich
pass the poor.
Watching the poor
pass the rich.
Watching two strangers
from opposite worlds
stop beside each other
because one has fallen.
And one reaches down.
The other reaches up.
For a second,
there is no rich.
There is no poor.
There is only
one hand
finding
another.
And perhaps
that is the kingdom
we were looking for.
Not a place above us.
Not a palace
behind the clouds.
But a moment
in this strange world
where what separates us
becomes smaller
than what connects us.
So wherever I wake tomorrow,
with abundance
or with almost nothing,
with a full table
or an empty one,
with gold in my pocket
or dust on my shoes,
I will try
not to ask,
“Why am I here?”
I will ask,
“What can I do
with where I am?”
Because maybe
God's will
is not always
the place itself.
Maybe it is
what love can become
while you are there.
And if I must walk
between two worlds,
let me walk slowly.
Let me carry bread
through the streets of gold.
Let me carry kindness
through the streets of hunger.
Let me never believe
that another person's wealth
makes me small,
or another person's poverty
makes me great.
Let me remember,
we are all passing through.
The rich man
cannot take his mansion.
The poor man
cannot take his hunger.
The king
cannot take his crown.
The beggar
cannot take his bowl.
Eventually,
we leave everything
at the same door.
And when that door opens,
perhaps God will not ask
how much we had.
Perhaps He will simply ask,
while you were here,
did you notice
who was beside you?
And I hope
I can say yes.
I hope I can say,
I saw them.
I saw the ones
with everything.
I saw the ones
with nothing.
I saw myself
somewhere between them.
And I learned
that wherever
the road placed me,
God was already there.
Not waiting
at the finish line.
Not hiding
inside the gold.
Not absent
from the hunger.
But walking beside me,
through both worlds,
teaching me
that a person's worth
was never something
the world could price.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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