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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
There are things in life you don't choose...

Submitted: July 27, 2016

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Submitted: July 27, 2016



At the corner of the city walls is where I lie,

Gazing at teachers, doctors and even pastors hie,

Emaciated and worn out, death ringing its bell like it's my time to die,

Atleast I manage to stretch my bony hand high,

To that visitor of the bin who always comes with a half eaten meat pie,

Who never bothers to say even 'Hi',

But looks at me with that ''don't touch me'' eye.

Then walks away pretending to be deaf to my cry.

If this life am living is my official wear, was poverty meant to be my neck-tie?

Someone tell me...


A cold night, the city so wide and bright,

Bright because of the night city sun; street light.

I reach for my sack from its hide,

Its all I got for a bed.

I barely sleep, I just lie and rest,

Because my mind is always in quest,

Loading how I will survive tomorrow

And wondering how I survived the day's atrocity.

I feel a chill flow into my marrow,

And it leaves me with a question,

Am in no answering position,

Is this night cold meant to be a punishment,

For the day's sinful involvement?

I snatched a packet of biscuits from an innocent kid,

I stole a mango from from mama mboga.

But how I wish this cold could understand am blameless,

I was just trying to answer an urgent call from my stomach.


Today in my daily duty as a dump site guard,

My eyes were set enviously on my agemates

I watched some of them drive past my office; dump site.

Some passed to deposit empty food containers,

Some mocked me because I wore something close to their door mats.

I realised most of them have a similar character, Merciless and they care less.

Or maybe its because in this world I own nothing,

My life is just a graveyard of buried and decomposed dreams.

I have no hope left for the future,

The same way I fear my coffin will lack even a picture,

Because am nothing but just a mare dump site security guard.


There things in life you don't choose.

You don't choose where you are born,

You don't choose your parents,

You don't choose how you look like,

The same way I didn't choose to be born in the streets.

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