From the Other Side of the Street

We were tired of living, But weren’t sure of leaving. To them, we portrayed an incoherent loquacity of a nervous Mong-er, Committing crimes, living in abject poverty and dying in hunger, Yet, their thoughts put on the panoply of killing. We have been around this neighborhood, But never had a chance to act with the Nollywood. Their cameras were always on us like celebrities, Not for good but to show the world our negativities, We die daily, yet, we didn’t break the brotherhood. The sound of their guns do thunder in fury, Dwarfing our ambitions, then our visions blurry, Then like vicissitudes of wind and weather, We still adjust our lives like buckles on leather, And wish to survive the tears of outraged vanity blinding us in a hurry. We are from the black race, It’s evident in our bloods and my face, Let the black man enjoy freedom truthfully, Because the decision to be free is taken freely, I think I have already set the pace. An Stewart Chekiri Everestus's Poems © 2019