Covered in hype-chain, and rings over his all-black attire,
Conformity of a group culture
The neighbourhood funk like they know them,
Loots, and destruction
And by dawn, pot-smoking and binge drinking are their forte.
In his elated mood, striding back and forth,
As he runs endlessly a string of uncoordinated conversations
Only to sit in the courtyard and ready his table
His daily meal,
Leaves wrapped in fiber and cubes of cinnamon gum.
Oh! There’s a seer,
With a foresight of doom,
the seer speaks
‘This child, A blessing and curse!
Oh, horror! Oh, child, all things are dark’
Fear crept.
Another recourse, they try
A diviner,
A clergyman,
A shrink.
When the day blooms,
He picks the trash in the compound,
Singing, chorus after chorus
Oh, what a happy day!
Out of the frowning days,
He sleeps 15 hours,
To wake into another
Covered with dark dirt, his skin itches
As he sinks into a pit of darkness.
To a new rise,
Longing to be free,
He fights.