By David Mbitu Muchia
Behind the bars; your eyes scare shining in the dark.
rolling on your rags; staring blank on glaring bulb.
what of your first class honour and a decent job?
what a waste? locked up like a zoo beast.
what visions do you have? crouching at the corner.
I intrude into your preoccupation; irked with pity.
what crime did you commit? the desolated human form.
what ultimate despairing agony lodged in your skull?
when under the bronze sun you searched for living.
and the world played games asking for five years experience.
the “NO VACANCY” signpost were the welcoming villain receptionists.
When all turned dim; with your big hardworking hands.
you took a hoe but where were the lands to farm.
you took a brush but no houses to paint clean.
you took a pen but wrote of lamentations and sorrows.
invoking attention evaded for long; that was disgusting drawings.
so you took a fire; walked the walk and the talk.
Now your hands tremble with pain and regrets.
unimaginable agony furrow your face with a haggard look.
so many youthful years to burn; counting ashen days.
with a longing wish for a new start; a second chance.
but I warn you brother; they still don’t think of youths.
and the world have gone weary with humility.