Misfortune of a Poor
Hey blokes…do you really know what life is…?
Like living in the ghetto…any memories of Soweto…?
Maybe you can’t…make me a chant…
Yes…I know…because I grow…
In the streets…where my feet…
Would meet…the dead…and the underfed…
Where food variety was scarcity…like living is atrocity…
Where poverty…like a sin…makes u thin…wary and dreary…
Like soldiers in Iraq…on the attack…from Sunnis, and Shiites…
But have to fight…with all might…not knowing when…it will end…
The audacity of hope…or is it dope…the scope…?
The choices have limits…gods dam it…just give it…
Sufferation...infection…addiction…
Prostitutions…institutions of frustration…
Thugs…drug…bugs…some hugs…
Shoots…loots…rapes…some escapes…
Prison walls…jails calls…sleepless nights…fights…would frights…
When police…with sirens…is the signal…to stay in…
The guns…the cries…the lives lost…can you tell me the cost…?
From ashes to ashes, dust to dust…my homie…it does get foamy…
His blood…on the curve…it shatters…my nerve…
And so is my faith…will I await…my date…?
With history…which often seem like a mystery…
Is revenge the only consolation…as reflected in the penal conditions…?
What did I do mate…hate…?
My will was to kill...but still…any adrenalin fills…?
The crack…no lack…of stack…
To execute the mission…what is the decision…?
Snorts…gets torn apart…
This homie…he knows me…from birth …
The same school…the rule…from my parents…and his…
Live and let live…learn to share…and care…like boys…with toys…
Remember Slomy…he was before me…
Lock away…everyday…in handcuffs…
It’s tough…the stuff…in my hand…no contraband…
It’s a weapon…it’s loaded…it’s heavy…like my heart…
Beating…competing…a life…to take…
Whilst he dies…I awake…the stake…
It is high…why…?
He’s gone…am I a pawn…or a victim…of the system…?
What will be the gain…only hurt…and pain…?
While my memories linger…what was the real rearranger…?
Of my destiny…does it sit next to me…?
And what is your view of the danger…stranger…?
Copyright © Michael Robertson | Year Posted 2016
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