This poem is actually inspired by the poverty around down here in Africa and the hope of a better future void of want, where poverty would be synonymous with the apocalypse;
WHISTLES
Bask in your plenty
while I drown in my misery,
Enriched in plenty,
As the last coins in my loins jingled;
The shrapnel of want...
Swim in excess,
while I sink in financial defloration
engraved in want,
flying high on the wings of poverty
the sabre of life's dynamicity ...
Cruise in luxury,
while I dine on the bread of sadness
lost in the fantasy of poverty
the glorification of broke-lyn
it is the staccato of a sad tale...
i seethe the smut of a porous pocket,
i hear the sibilance of a goon
see you on the other side,
where lack is prohibited
want is old-fashioned,
where life is full and free,
set sail for Free-Town,
let's make for bay while the wind thrives,
let our travails be lost in the strive
and our discord be found in the hades,
for the whistle, is blown.
