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She steals a glance,
Her bloodshot eyes tell it all.
In their smoking shelter
She watches her siblings
Fearing only for their future.
She thinks of the next meal
Tears run down her already sunken cheeks
A dreary heart, it does not heal
Suicide, a way out.
Maybe prostitution.
But to her the siblings come first.
Tick-tick, Tick-tick,
Time to make a better future,
There goes the bell.
She walks them to school,
Turns back,
And another day of tedious labour has just began.
The clatter of pots and pans,
Heaps upon heaps of clothing.
Not hers, not theirs;
But for another meal
She will remain strong,
And take that meagre wage.
Here they come,
She manages a faint smile
Pushing the falling door to let them in
Today she managed a decent meal
But what about tomorrow?
Will she even live to see them grow?
The untold story continues...
She is also a sibling,
But non cares for her needs.
She does not go to school,
But she would really love to.
But for her, their needs come first.
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Writer Profile
Joseph Nthia
I love writing short stories and poetry. Imagination keeps the brain alive ,reality keeps the mind in touch.
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