The Bars
The Bars
Let me confess
I was there when he died
I kept quiet when he cried
I looked in his eyes as he was fried
When the police came I lied
About my sight of the event that changed my life
It was hard to say exactly how it happened
At first it was about the door I had opened
I went in there with the intention to steal
A few cookies and change so I could give
My 2 year old son Shintsho (Change)
Change? Yes his name means change
I had never given him anything I’m proud of before
That had to change
All he was always told was that
“Your father is a good for nothing bastard who is just a sperm donor”
That was partly true I had nothing to my name
No Job,no home, no income
Just selling of fruits on the street
To pay for my shelter and water
Waking up every morning
Pushing the trolley everyday,Given a ticket everyday
The Metro police taking away the only link
Between my Son and I
Making me hate every moment on the street
They confescated the goods because I didn’t have a permit
My pain has caused me to drift away from what I innitially got your attention for
Why?
Why ? Why did I open that door?
I wouldn’t have witnessed his terrible murder
He was burnt because he refused to open the empty safe
Why keep an empty safe Safe?
Why save a cashless save?
Didn’t he think about the insurance
Why fight to keep safe what can be replaced
Money has become more valuable than life
The fire in his eyes
Burnt permanent marks in my mind
The fighting spirit he had showed he was one of a kind
The kind of person who believes money more valuable than his own life.
Don’t get me wrong the guys who brutally murded him
Were wrong ,they were not supposed to take what didn’t belong to them
I confess that I sat behind the shelves
I watched him die even when they were out of the store
I was still in shock
But that doesn’t justify
I let an innocent man die
Today I stand behind these bars guilty of arson
My fingerprints were all over the man’s clothes
A few months before that incident I went to the post office
To get my grant money but my fingerprints didn’t match
I had burnt them during a fire at my shack
Fire was following me like I was petrol
These flames are stronger than me
I’ll continue writing this poem when I can its too painful to even pour out my thoughts here behind these bars!
By Slashfire
© Slashfire Poetry 2010-2013
All rights reserved
Copyright © Simiso Sokhela | Year Posted 2013
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