No sleep for the one that was born strive.
Dreams are free but he need to wake up by five,
To chase the early fate of time.
And if he must fail, let it not be my own craft.
He will better let life do it's draft.

"I know the street and street knows me".
Said the young dusty man,
Who's motivation is drown from an empty stomach,
While hawking plantain in the scorching sun.

His hard work, patient and intelligence,
Has no relevance.
It seems destiny has a price,
And without funds reality don't give a slice.
So the young man must throw the dice,
And hope he gets Lucky.

Lucky enough to get for himself, basic amenities.
His trousers, shirt and slippers are oversized,
His skin and lips are dried,
But his smile is like the sunset.

There's a longing in eyes,
A longing for what tomorrow brings,
faith,trust and hope are the song he sings,
So let Takpo enjoy his meal.
Hunger can wait till tomorrow.

Take his meat,
Take his shirt and his only shoe,
But don't take his flute.
The boy born with a wooden spoon still have a song to sing.
And since dreams are free, let him have a few.










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© Mentron Dc