I Worry…
about the next meal.
from whence it shall come
and whether it shall ever last.
I am long done being choosy about the taste, portion or,
platter upon which it shall come finding me.
Gold, silver, tin, or foil paper matters not!
I shall gladly take it,
if its placed on hard wood or concrete stone!
I worry…
about a future that’s pretty much stolen;
a life hijacked, and a destiny ransomed away for non-existence.
A beggar in my own land
An hungry man in my own farm, and
homeless under my own roof.
Death is a joy if it comes.
Life is plain agony just counting the days.
A quarter of my life gone with no probity.
The rest is here this minute like a muffled
whistle in a terrible whirlwind.
I worry…
about my life.
A life others walk around for a fee,
in the way a strong hand walks or jerks a puppy around on a long leash.
A miserable life, forgotten in national policies, but featured prominently in partisan politics.
I worry…
about a face worn too early.
a stranger to laughter,
a perpetual tenant to sorrow.
I worry that I belong nowhere
but only with myself.
The street smart woman walking towards me in a flash crossed the street to a safe side just to avoid me!
I would, if I walked in her shoes too!
I worry that I am good at heart
but my effect suggests entirely otherwise!
To me I am simply me,
To them, I could just be a dangerous Criminal!
I worry…
Picture courtesy of Chriss Aghana Nwobu
