One of my frieds

It all started with the neighborhood

Living in a hood where he could see cars

And stars in the nights which use to stir his mind

Because he was far from shining as them

He had bars in mind about galaxies

But how are dreams valid if there are no lullabies to summon sleep?

An empty stomach cannot be a blanket even for just a night

 

He used to see dad swat, which was way smarter than the garbage points he worked from

He used to see mum chase fate every morning, which was clean than the laundry she did for a living

He was used to the little served every evening and sometimes a pate of cold stories of how things didn’t work, how ends were parallel

And that’s why stomach problems were not his thing because there wasn’t any much to drive the stomach crazy

And that why they’d store much, yes much stories about fate

He was amongst the people that life had pushed to a still to live in the mercies of opportunities, sheer chances and fate

Living a life that there was no life in the living room and chicken was a rare thing in the kitchen

A life where the living room was everywhere for a family that tunes to the same digit as a soccer team

 

He was the eldest in the family of eight, so he felt the weight of expectations carry his day

Fate sounded so diverse, for it followed him way to school

Retardation was one of the horrors that made his nightmares

What if, what if  the counselling department told him a Word that would make him excel

Anyway, education is not every man’s PowerPoint

But at least talent can be the surest Publisher of any man’s dreams

And that dedication will always grant Access to the future

And if I were there, I’d remind him that that he’d always get what he wants and that there’s something in hi reach

That dedication, commitment and self belief are every determined man’s files that even Microsoft and keep for him

May be I’ll talk to him way after rehab, way after his jail sentence

For crime is not the answer

Crime si poa

Most leaders begin as followers as every ladder must first hit the ground

You won’t fight poverty through crime

Thank you.

By James Musau

#poetictuesdays

 

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