My Parables

At the street corner, you will find him seated waiting for a door to be opened. He spends the day talking about what so and so did. He looks at the events of the day unfold and those become central to his conversation. In him lies great potential, but there are no jobs. He is limited by a job, when the job search gets frustrating. A game of ludo , Matatu or getting smokienorful on a blunt does the trick. Wait a minute there is a riot, my chance to loot Mama Lucy’s kaduka . If caught in the act, I might not survive the wrath of this mob and live to see another day. There is no time for such thoughts, I will cross that bridge when I get there. This girl looks amazing, that girl just got a car, he lives in a nice apartment, kale I used to even be better than h im in school. We figure out schemes to meet or beat the status quo at whatever cost. Subconsciously playing the devil’s advocate, we are putting ropes around our necks. At the street corner she will strut her thing, for ever...

Here we speak the same language, And looking through the window We see outcasts. Funny that we are all Red, Yet dispel all likeness. Inside this box, All we think is… “None is better than us!” Step out of this box at the next stop You drown in an ocean Of different colors, races, tongues Your thoughts about this tribe, The other language That, “None is better than us!” Cease significant.