I paced the corridors
Trying to ascertain with my eyes
What my overwhelmed nose had defined
Was it not chicken frying?
I have not eaten
For a week and a night
Prospects of doing so, so bleak
I have an amazing wife
She too wears her suffering well
We live beneath the city
In a large compound
Haunted by poverty
With malnourished kids
Littered around the corners
We are not seen in cozy places
Air conditioned chambers
are but lofty ideas
Our impoverished minds
Are incapable of dreaming big
Perhaps it has dawned on me
As I age with crumbling dreams
That we are the architects
Of our Fortune
The beginning of our tears
And the end of our joys
We used to have a solemn laughter
Woven in blinding colours
But now, smiling is such
A rare commodity
Can I ever salvage this?
When will I ever inhale
Real chicken frying?
But my confounded nose,
Will not stop playing
Hide and seek with me
Under a shade in the corner
You will see me at the market
Sitting with my wares of poverty
Brandished and unwanted
I would trade them for a spoon
Of sugar
Maybe at least my dead tongue
Which has lost touch with sweetness
Will be salvaged
Daily, in tired clothes
And shoes that yawn for repairs
I sit here, begging
Kneeling or lying
With my wares of pity
But nobody cares
Am I invisible?
Oh my wares!
Nobody wants to buy hardship
My toils are just fruitless
Struggles of weak limbs
And demented reasoning.
@harrywill