By Atok Dan
On Juba’s street,
I stumbled on him,
The hot-hearted person,
On corridors of happiness,
I met him the black-hearted
His black heart held in dark is darker
How reddish could a blood ooze in arteries, it is still dark
His hot heart sends me to a sick bed
Behest of power of his ancestral deity
He crumbled me dead
Perhaps he did lose control
Probably he did intend to terminate me
He is lord of impunity
For he had done dead many like me but untouchable
But nature made me live to tell the tale
That many of his likes are lethal to innocent pedestrians
His “4” wheel guzzler rolled rubbers on my delicate melanin
Had I surrendered my life,
My life still screams in me
I was alive in a psychological deformed
Terrified of streets tears of horrors
Of people rolled over by reckless drivers
Of speedy motorists
Where traffic fellows feel fascinated
It is in the street of Juba
Is it a rolling incident or road accident?
Rolled in a road accident when merciless cars guzzle
It downs on you and ferries you to a cemetery for burial
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