It's a voyage through snitch alleys.
Where dirt paints our knees.
A life operating through a metal jungle.
Low beds, smell of evil, the life I live.
Smoke of poverty, government shovels.
That's all I see.

Living at the edge of winter cold.
Frozen ice, dry tears condense in shame.
My life leaning, rusty and old.
My shelter, roofed both sides.
Rats vacations and parties turned me bold.
For no matter how fast life slides.
From the whole bread, just to pull a slice.

They dart me passing by.
Floods of disgust through my cavities.
Armpits hollering odours of hard life.
Sudden food attempts, no allergies.
Under the frying sun, I distant the walk.
A yellow paint of struggle, covered my teeth.
I'm sure you could clearly see when I talk.

When sunset, I knock the bridge.
As my room screams the creeping cold.
A hard head knock, flattening my ridge.
Next morning, I don't flinch anymore.
Subsequent sheet, I trace and paste.

By Kgothatso Thobane