TITUS MAXWELL

The smile of poor perfectness Hurts but consoles the illiterates With the foul fragrance Of poverty and dacoit In the streets they say 'The undesignated survivor' They wobble wine glasses into their thirsty stomachs While their colleague swim in the ocean of poverty Poverty being his choice of unwilling selection Being the way he is, 'The undesignated survivor' Beautiful women in their houses Rich men came their spouses While him being an admirer Left only wishing, "I wish she were mine." That's he could say 'The undesignated survivor' Loneliness his best friend True and only friend Consoles him with hugs Providing saliva down his throat "Is he a madman?" The able passersby murmur While his teammates call him 'The undesignated survivor' Being the unluckiest accused of incest And murder of quest His stale bread Under his armpit Wealth to him is a jest Although he stood erect Smiling to his

Having no protection For my young skin From the fierce cold And the army Of well equipped mosquitoes Giving a guard of honour And sucking my blood. In the kitchen, I sleep. You eat on the table While I sit On the stinking floor Warmed up by cold. For am not your child. Sometimes, I feed on the aroma Of the delicacies That you eat. Simply because, Am not your child. In house chores, I become your donkey. From morning To evening Am in charge of the chores. If I want to study You postpone it But when my 'brothers' want to You release them. One day, I believe and hope God would lift the lowly.

If wishes were horses That's an old adage We should believe in wishes All times in our ages I have the desire To be loved by parents Although am orphaned. I have the desire To have back my sight And see the beautiful things That Almighty created. Moreso the light And the shinning stars Full of life. I have the desire To own an apartment Beautiful to view Rather, new. I would live in peace Away from rummages And daily chaos. I have the desire To have a baby Leave alone the adopted ones. From my own womb Which could give me pain And the real feeling Of being a mother. I have the desire To be successful in life And the desire, To help the needy. I wanna have enough money That wouldn't make me Forget my Creator. Although am an orphan, But I also have The human desires.

The lost evangelised agenda Torturing the less fortunate Without future Living by God's grace. Dancing the music, From the passing wind Only one thing in their heads, They hope. Stunted development Projects left unattended Exploitation Jupilation Of our new generation. Nothing to eat, No money in our purses. "Arrested development," Said the Philosopher. Hungry, wounded, worn out But still, They hope. To be well fed, Ruled politely And democratically represented No scoundrels from abroad. The cry of crusaders Under the N eem tree Crying and mourning Weak they appear But strongly in their hearts, They hope. Orphans an high pitch Calling for help From their exploited ditches They rise in awe Only to be knuckled their heads. Denied their freedom Of expression Although God gave it freely. Neither they tire, Nor give up They hope. A photo of stale Ugali with some vegetable. People may get this food once per day others can go for

She came to me Exploding her bomb of smile Her arms spread Like flying eagle By then... I loved her. She embraced me And made me a happy fella Making me forget sadness And swam her ocean Of endless affection. I took her to my room She cooked dinner Wiped away my tears Showered me with kisses Until I forgot My previous lover. She was calm and silent Her brilliant bright face Shinning like pearls Or pieces of mirror Exposed to sunlight. Surely, It's her Whom I loved. Broken now is my heart Hurt by fake love No kiss, no hug Wealth was all She came for Now the poor me Left in tears My only ship sunken In the sea of poverty.