Wearing a limited designer silver wrist chains,
After a bad rendezvous with the man with wig,
Blaring sirens; with my entourage I left stately
As I set off to the house with the Babylonian gate
The journey to the mansion was short like a wink
And the welcoming sight of the Kilimanjaro fence
Sent a stinging bite down my sitting spine,
As a hermit life awaits sadly within these walls.
In this dreadful house of deep reflection
The call of the grim reaper some await
Some years of rocky and masonry labour
And others in waiting like a king's consortium.
The clothes of restriction we dutifully wear
Breathing in and out, the air of confinement,
Sick and withering green grass count months
And the morning sun break the news of new brothers.
The water and food of regrets we ingest daily
As hunger beat the drum of our belly at night,
The bare chilly floor as bed, and thighs as pillows,
As we get stacked in the hostel like a frozen food.
In this place of reason, lowly called prison
We brood about nature's gift, good or bad,
As we live to die tomorrow in this hell on earth
Or await the sun, to declare the walk of freedom.
AZEEZAT © 2018