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On the journeys to my heritage country I ponder
How these people can live such lively lives,
Through tarnished roads and alleys they wander
Underprivileged is what we call their fives.
Mopeds slowly zooming by
With four youngsters piled on high,
Juvinile mothers striving to make ends meet
Try to keep their children off the streets.
They know the true meaning of suffering and survival
Turmoil unapparent in the smiles that one bears,
They neither lose hope nor expect a golden arrival
They learned long ago that happiness is theirs.
To the untrained eye they may have zero,
But I know now they don't need a hero.
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Catherine
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Comments
Nice piece! Ebuenyi Ikenna D. | May 6th, 2006
You paint the picture so well that you make your reader feel the pains of your subjects. That 's great!
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