On The Run By Gonsalves Mpili
My legs are in pain,
Why?
A storm of hatred is after me,
I was a garbage of insults.
All I do is good,
To those in need of a smile,
Words weren’t enough,
Even their eyes neglected me.
I never bought a house,
Their hearts and fingers were my palace,
A palace that owned me,
My decency was and still their slave.
Their wickedness crowned me a beggar,
As if I were one,
Are you paid to do this?
I asked them and myself.
The answers I got were,
We are paid and employed to do you bad,
Who’s your employer?
No one, maybe a ghost.
It’s worth,
To find a court and a judge,
And jail me a life sentence,
From their hostility.
Willingly,
As I took off,
Their rectangular mouths yelled,
May you regret the path you took.