Tired Moringa

tired morning This morning a song from a film filtered through my mind “what was it all for Alfie.” I had no choice but being born, played no part of the proceeding but had to bear the brunt of the aftermath. The emptiness of poverty, the view of the sunlight from an opposite wall in a back yard. The dread of the midnight flight, bare rooms, linoleum floor doomed to endless boredom, no expectation of a blue sky day. We, children, played in the street a window broke, they, the boys, disappeared so quickly I was left holding a ball that wasn't mine the policeman was so tall, my denial was a tearful whisper my mother had to pay, and she slapped my face. Yet there was a moment of happiness green grass and animals that I had to forego. What is life for? ­