Living below a dollar per day
They wait for no pay
Scavenging for their daily pay
Waiting for merchant at their ugly bay
After their routine sick hustle
They sit in clusters at the gate
Sipping in dry spirit
Slums beaming with false life
The scent of Akara
Dancing in their brains
Drowning every nerve cells
In a street with multiple doors
In a cramped lane
Where sinners sits with saints
And a brothel releases sensual hymns
While a church stands an inch apart
After the crows of the one legged cock
Our slums wakes from its sugary dream
Where men sips black coffee
And ladies walk in five inches heels
Young men sit in circles
While a board game cause them to release every penny
Damsels walk with trays
Swinging their backside to the drums of the wind
Hawkers with bitter kola
Watching men with sachet of gin
Pouring vintage libation
Killing their worldly sorrows
Let’s go to the slums
Walking to the edge of penury
Let’s inhale the smell of strong weed
Listening to lesson by men
Living at the edge
“Slums beaming with false life” Sad, really. Yet, isn’t it amazing that from these gutters sometimes are found very exceptional talents, the world over?