If you see the old man with wrinkles, tattered cloth and an osseous chest,
tell him I wasn't grasped by the raucous songs flailing into my ears via my earpiece,
but by his semblance with an abandoned library.
I saw him today, his corporal odour spoke of his profession;
he works in a piggery, my immediate brother works there too.
He complains of how aches foray his tranquility every night,
he complains of stench which sometimes burns his strength with vertigo while working.
If my brother who still carries youthful bones complains,
this man will definitely long for death to end these struggles.
My imagination became a searchlight as I walked past him,
I was listening to boisterous songs, I stopped flowing with them.
I was caught in-between many stories;
one told me he's his children's curse,
he's no child! Another story bawled,
one told him he was one of the boys in the 90s who trapped education in a revolver
and shot it beyond their reach,
he's just at loggerheads with fortune! Another story retorted.
Every story had a reprisal, I was curious but scared to ask him which story he'd lived.
A reckless driver sped past me,
my cloth danced, I felt his intense speed.
"Hey boy, that earpiece attached to your ears will kill you if you're not careful!" he cautioned me.
If you see that old man with wrinkles, tattered cloth and an osseous chest,
tell him I wasn't grasped by the raucous songs flailing into my ears via my earpiece,
but by his semblance with an abandoned library.