Street boy

By Ashraf Mbonimpa

I’m the boy
with a pocket full of dreams
but with a stomach empty like a desert rain.

There’s nothing I can call my own
only the heart that beats in my chest,
pumping blood through my veins,
and a skin, dirty and stained,
and a body that roams the streets begging
for something to put in it’s unbrushed mouth.

It makes me feel less than a man,
depressed, down,
but I could’ve been different.
Or maybe I’m too optimistic?
Is my life like quantum physics?
A roller coaster of sunken emotions?
In my darkest times as my eyes were fireflies
Enlightening my dark moments in an endless tunnel of misery
In the streets, chaos and hunger are a friend of mine

I’m empty like an echo, loved by no one,
but the image that emerge when I close my eyes,
is of a thick nimbus cloud, heavy as a bird,
that slides in front of the sun.
But I keep my eyes open,
and I see is a blurry shadow of an innocent street boy,
numb to his energy and spirit.

13 March, 2023