They are the shadows of your society,
We no longer see them,
If we do,
we see us then we see them,
As less than we.
They clutch windshield wipers in their palms,
Their feet pressed against the concrete
That feels like any second now it with become molten.
Pain has designed a forward arch in their backs,
Throats lacerated is if rocks for breakfast
were the only choose.
They stand there like sundials.
From sunrise to sunset
their shadows revolve around them
They become box in by themselves,
With on way of escaping,
Is in the shadows,
Ironic isn’t it.
They humble themselves and ask from a start.
Hands outstretched towards us,
Offering the only service they can give
For a few dollars
But, but we whine the windows up
And sit there as if car seats are pedestals.
As flipping a twenty dollar coin through the window
Dented our mortgage payments,
Our even bruised our pockets
We become so preoccupied with
Our false ways of living that be forget
It doesn’t take much to be one of them.
To become a slave to your hunger.
Having your stomach becoming you conscience.
We were told
‘Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery’
But how can we ?
Until our mines are able come down from our high stole of pride
To walk the cold dirty pavements of kingston city,
Before these walls covered in political nonsense
become sun kissed
And feel for those with absolutely nothing
but the breath they took before
Because the next one will never be sure.
Until we destroy our pride and see that
Breathing is God’s blessing.
A gift we all share.
That these street kids are us,
We are them,
All human with nothing assured but the past we already seen