Foot on the Lane
It’s always a man like me
In the mind of donors
Because of my punctured tyre.
My name has become a title
To many charity works
And organisations.
My face is an old cloth
In the eyes of many doctors
And nurses.
I am ever tipsy on the road,
Always looking drunk
Without sipping.
This is why I can’t meet
My future dreams—
Because I am still chasing
My yesterday’s dream.
I can hear in my mind
The voice of a beautiful woman
Calling me for a dance.
The children too are begging me
To teach them soccer,
While my friends are waiting
At the foot of Mt. Rwenzori.
If morning sun comes
With God’s blessing,
Then I pray I receive mine
Before anyone could,
So that my punctured tyre
Can be glued and pumped
Back to its once-hidden path.
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