On The Run By Gonsalves Mpili

My legs are in pain,

Why?

A storm of hatred is after me,

I was a garbage of insults.

All I do is good,

To those in need of a smile,

Words weren’t enough,

Even their eyes neglected me.

I never bought a house,

Their hearts and fingers were my palace,

A palace that owned me,

My decency was and still their slave.

Their wickedness crowned me a beggar,

As if I were one,

Are you paid to do this?

I asked them and myself.

The answers I got were,

We are paid and employed to do you bad,

Who’s your employer?

No one, maybe a ghost.

It’s worth,

To find a court and a judge,

And jail me a life sentence,

From their hostility.

Willingly,

As I took off,

Their rectangular mouths yelled,

May you regret the path you took.