The Orphan
Their candle faded
With no trace of their way.
I sat and waited,
Completely swallowed in darkness,
Wishing they could return
And stay.
Even dogs bark to mock my loneliness,
My most grievous emptiness.
At least they have bones to eat—
What do I?
With stones in my path turning to mountains,
Lies and bedbugs my only company.
Maybe the birds
That some evenings land on their graves
And sing me towards sleep
Before returning to their loved ones.
This is where the mosquitoes pick up the melody,
Having their supper
From a few drops of water I have managed,
Waiting to hide
When the morning sun drives them back
To my precious grass-thatched mansion.
It is so sweet to be home,
A home rarely trodden,
Filled with the memories of daddy's voice
And mommy's praise for her beloved son.
A compound cleaned and washed by the tears
Of a single child,
A community two-legged rat
That only God sees a man in him.
His holy book remembers me every Sunday,
While the church pews listen to all farts of riches,
But no ear goes home with the preaching.
The world is green and must be green,
For my stomach is green.
I only see blood from my own,
Meat from my own flesh,
And yes, the pets—those dead pets
Given to me on lucky days—
I roast them for a quick boil.
My stomach may quarrel, but the diet
Must enter.
When the inside war erupts,
I must jump to the bush.
Rags can't afford medicine anyway,
So a few strain pushes and leaves to clean
Must do.
I saw my president on a flying paper,
And my envy
Drives me to the class window
Whenever I am able.
But I must dodge the teachers' chalk
And pupils' shoes every time.
Education is the key, but the key holder
Must be the rasp and clink of money.
So I end up in my leaking mansion.
Every day I try.
Now I am an illustration of failure,
Every parent's disgrace.
The graves remain silent,
But over them I cry.
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