Hey people. It’s been a while. Blame it on running out of essential stuff. Say toothpaste tube that I found the other day had been all squeezed out to the last remnant. Being a learned fellow, I settled on Google. The result said I need not to worry, a mixture of salt and bicarbonate of soda – God knows what that is – could be a perfect replacement. On the other hand, I had an option of PK [I had my doubts here]. Long story short, I’ve always had a thing for afro-soul that led me to listen to Nina Ogot’s Chokora (street child). Eventually I was inspired by this song to write a poem and here’s the piece.

*knock* *knock* who’s in there?

It’s getting cold out here I can’t take no more

Open up it’s not a Jehovah Witness like before

Sorry I might be breaking your law

But the winter chill deep inside my bones sore

A hogwash? That’s crazy, NO!

The weathermen get it wrong at times you know

For Christ sake can’t you hear the waters roar?

My son with me wondering is this also a foe?

We’ll pitch a sojourn don’t you worry

About us staying immortally

I am somebody I may be poor

But I am somebody I maybe on the streets

 

*knock* *know* who’s in there?

I can see the lights are on sign of life

Speak low to me, Saviour low and sweet

I am unarmed not even a knife

Truth be told you are behaving like a dwarf

See past the sheer belief of race, make an equal half

Brother, sister, child, uncle, husband or wife

We are all one, does that not sound rife?

Yet I can feel it in your tone

The hatred

You are human and so I’m I

Life can really throw some pretty low blows

On a wet face tears never show

 

*knock* *know* who’s in there?

Open up please save my soul

They call me street child. It means ‘anonymous’. That’s not my name.

Just call me Victor, I can be a winner too

I may not have the charm

To make you open this door

But please listen to your heart

I can hear it telling you what to do, the right

So don’t shut me out

Lest the heavens be offended

And souls be broken

 

*knock* *knock* who’s in there?

Can you hear me?

I’ve stood at your door step for long now

And I can tell you’re getting scared

It’s good to be scared, to be scared means you have something to lose

But I haven’t given up on you

Not just yet

I can see your shadow, you are by the door

Torn between doing the right thing or wrong

Open up to a poor soul

Or head back to your sleeping hole

Every rose has thorns I get it

To prick fingers unaware…

Oh no! Not you again.

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