Tomorrow isn’t promised,
No food on the table,
Nothing to wake up to,
But come morning, before the cock crows thrice,
You’re awoken by your own alarm,
A rumble in your belly,
Hence, another day’s quest begins.
Your surroundings suffer the same feat,
Starved of everything nice,
A tragedy to the bare eyes,
Death and danger lurk at every corner,
Waiting for an opportunity to prance,
Suddenly there’s a new agenda,
And that which ushered you into today means the least,
All we see is green.
But the land is barren,
Grey as dusk,
With sunrise comes trepidation,
My brother got shot yesterday,
Mother cried all night,
Alcohol, drugs and father are best friends,
I’m eleven with no place to call home.
Friends are few and far,
Not every one can withstand the struggle,
Survival of the fittest,
I look left and right,
People about looking for a better tomorrow,
Today was gone from the third crow,
This is how we live,
They call it life,
We call it the slum.