Broken Silence

We are the empty men of the street, a cup which water fail to grace; the sky shies away from us at dawn then, the sun welcomes us harshly at noon. We are the window of pain and struggle dinning from cozy drainage and frozen atmosphere. When you see us smile, another uncertainty is created, this street has known us and we are part of the street like the palms of our hands and our imaginations; like the elephant, we give pains to the ground and the ground mock us like the little Ant at dusk. No one cares of the thunder that sends fears in us, no one cares of the rain that threatens us. This dying thought created terror and empathy, They said we have step to every beat Yet, they take our deeds to the fire for judgement We speak to break this and all To tell of our sorrow to the world Let them know what the politicians has caused us The land they made unbearable Through this broken silence of thought. Yours Poetically, © John Chizoba Vincent