Birthed at the beginning of a lost cause
Parents gone before his first course
And all their details read ‘was’
Seen by all siblings as a curse
Just like his ugly tribal marks-his cross

Always ,His neighbours remained in thier hoods
None looked towards his domiciliary woods
His food was nothing but their crumbs and rotten fruits
And he knew all the strains of ulcer
Dear Jackie barked her last:more like a groan of hunger

In a brief he could patch multi-torn briefs
He even had one which doubled as his shorts
And with his dirt and sweat blessed shirt
They made a good uniform
Even though he knew not the four walls of a classroom
The road was his school and play ground

  1. He fought his way through life
    Hoping to see a light somewhere;
    If not at the end of the tunnel-at least through a dent-hole
    But he saw nothing,so he gave himself to that nothing–whole
    Even the deepest core of his soul
    And just like the pop of a bubble-gone.

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