Tyranny of poverty

when you hear the ravenous bark of a dog on these streets, know that they're not rejecting anyone but sending away the preposterous ignorance of the rich. They, wicked souls of pride, have refused to help their friends, I mean the dog friends, don't get me wrong. The dogs friends? Men and women and children diminished to fogs of dry life with whom they share bread cumbs from the trash can. So you see, the dogs are only being loyal to their companions of wretchedness. They, being somewhat anonymous guards; their gasping bones might as well tell the crooked, pitiful tale of compelled friendship because ignoring their kind means more sordid starvation. They can't go home, their masters don't feed them well, so they conspire with the beggars, blind, young or old to eat the bread of drought, in a dim light of dim hope.

At day time, the murderous curse of the sun continues to wound their comfort. They deeply fry in the oil of rejection and negligence. Of course, the life lingering in their bodies is negliglible, as negligible as the smallest, micro decimal in the language of calculation. I'm sorry to speak in this morbid language of mathematics, but you must see what I mean when I talk about suffering. Not just suffering, the intense suffocation of the soul. Too bad they have no consoling handkerchiefs to pity their skins by wiping their swarthy visages. People just past by, why? It's not their fault because the penny drought has made these sad soul as transparent as the air as far as care is concerned.

At night, the same grim fate continues. The careless darkness covers them black with the paint of shame. A dismal cold sweeps away the warmth of their bare feet. Demons of men, then rape innocent girl that sleep on the demonic mattress of cement.

Just listen to me, poverty is horrible. If you're in school, study hard. Whatever talent you've got, use it to the max to survive in this life.

                                                   By Kakraba Afful