Dire francis – VOYAGER
To the person reading this,
Please, I am poor with the sky as my shelter,
I bath with the dawn and dine with the dusk,
Resting on life’s constant heat,
Cruising the streets with my legedese Benz.
Your trash is my inheritance,
Feeding solely from the vomit of your bowel,
You may never notice me,
You might notice, and say I stink,
But please smile when I can only wave.
When your umbrella shields you from the rain,
Or when you splash sludge on me with your car,
Remember me dancing in the rain,
Remember that it’s my chance at a cool bath,
A chance to thank God for his windfalls.
And when you admire your heavily pommelled skin,
Robed in the most sophisticated of outfits,
I pride myself in my torn attire,
Which Mallam Saraki has patched in all spots,
And my charcoal skin comes with all sorts of blemish.
Even those parties you put off for shows,
You may not see my name on your guest lists,
Because I am at the gate, feeling the vibes,
Inhaling the aromas from the kitchen stews,
Even though it will never touch my tongue.
And when you fluent your achievements on social media,
And screech the chairs of your outstanding office,
Watching me from your blinders,
I am here, scavenging the dumps, having my fill with small chops,
And if one day I go to school, I wish to shine and be called a star.
To you who take therapies abroad,
Who import Indian doctors to cure your headache,
Look down on me from your high and mighty,
You will find me gnashing my teeth and battling malaria,
Or suffering diarrhea while sniffing each other’s shit.
Your loved ones will bury you in expensive caskets,
But my mat is my Aladdin in transition,
And to the same dust, we shall return,
Whether I hitch a ride in a cruiser or a fisherman’s boat,
I like to be called a voyager, passing through the wave of time.
© Dire Francis
