The
pavement dwellers
Like
spiders,
Crawl all
over the ugly streets,
Tattered
and shuttered.
Houses
with no walls, but a ‘rich’ ceiling,
Sun at
day,
Moon and
stars at night,
Their
beautiful decoration.
Middle
class glassed eyed
With
despise,
Stare at
their maidens
At the
break of dawn
When
unmindful of the famine
Sense of
bashfulness,
Have a
bath on street channels
That
carry heavenly tears,
Tears of
their suffering
Down to
the dirty slums.
The
pavement dwellers
Yet go on living
Worries from robbers,
Are un known, non existent.
Those who
take pleasure in killing
Despise
them,
For they get non-in doing so.
The
pavement dwellers
Unmindful
of the feminine
Sense of
bashfulness,
Pick lice
from each other’s hair.
Their
young men,
Living on
the brink of illegality
Terrorise
the passer bys
Their
old,
Eyes used
to seeing corpse,
Hands to
digging graves,
And
hearts to endless frustration
This street,
It’s
small and ugly but its home.
The
pavement dwellers,
No longer tattered and
shuttered.
Same
hands, but new minds,
For
things are changing
And
changing fast.
Soon
the dwellers and the middle class,
Before
the throne,
Shall
be judged,
And
all will be equal.
Opolot Simon
