VOICE OF THE STREET.

You wake up from the comfort of your home
On your four-poster bed
With a cup of cappuccino by your bedside
And missing someone to kiss your lips.
      
 BUT

We wake up to the gruesome inimical street
On the stacks of rags that lie beneath our feet
With the heavenly pap bequeath on us by mother nature
And missing someone to console our confidence.

We walk under the scorching sun
And work in the oven of the blazing fires
Where it's radiations pierce through our skins
Tearing our hearts apart
Melting our brains like lemon drops
And the inferno beneath our feet
Evaporates the humanity out of us.
Subtly, our hell begin right here
While your heaven begin right there
From the top of those storey buildings
Where you watch us die with comfort.

And without guns and ammunition
Among yourselves, elite
You fight endless wars
The battle to be the first among your equals
And the intelligence in your cerebra
That is supposed to save us all
Is rather used to battle for sheer lustful preeminence.

Don't you have that 128 inches Television?
That stretches across your living rooms?
Where you watch telenova and telemundo?
Why then do you need to come to the street
And make it the cinema
Staying right on top of that bower's tower
When you want to watch "tears of the sun"
Or stage play of "half of a yellow sun"

It isn't love that keep us together
Neither was it hate that widen our differences
We've just looked beyond the inhumanity
And allowed nature to take its course
To redefine us for survival
And exterminate the unfit among us.

Don't mourn us when we die
For we have no befitting burial
And our apparition wander the earth
For there seems no abode for us.
And until that day we find peace,
And that day the silent voices of the street are heard,
We'll forever keep the street inimical.


Pen Name: The Broken Mirror.

Do you lend a voice to the street? If you had not, then it's high time you did.