Buffeted by Stalingrad’s icy winds,

he searched for an empty womb

to replace a Mother he never had.

He was never at home in his life.

Driven to make money,

he raked it in, — sitting,

walking, or standing on his head.

It scratched an itch that never

could be quelled.

For years he haggled and horse-traded

his way across the Silk Road

from Istanbul to Marrakesh,

milking every penny

from the poorest of the poor.

He had no guilt until he fell in love

with a woman who opened the door

to a world the color of music.

He learned his loneliness compelled him

to work so hard to keep from crying.

He left the armpit of commerce

for the bosom of passionate love.

Enlightened, he became as good

at giving money away as he was

at making it.