Thoughts of a ‘sick’ African boy


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To this day,
I wake up sitting on mat,
with sharpened pencil,
and pieces of papers,
all thrown to my face;
there I looked paled
on this village face.

I lift my eyes to the top,
seeking for the man at top,
wishing and wishing
but the sky looks grey itself,
as snow don’t fall on summer
and winter storms breaks not bones but trees,
nothing of a saint at helmage.

There is one thing I keep inking,
the one thing I keep imprinting,
at the deeper scope of me,
at the deeper soul of me,
please just show me an African leader,
and I would show you his greediness;
all along his belly,
and don’t you know men can be pregnant?
o’ fellow,
please keep watching the greedy soul.

The Village Thinker © 2014

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