What am I?

I once was calm but now I’m shaken,
Awoken by noises louder than the screams in my dreams.
Quickly living, slowly dying, I’m lain among the filth strewn along streets so dusty,
For I owe poverty every coin drop in this steel cup so rusty,
Which you pass past fast, every time you walk by,
Wishing your ears don’t catch the question I yell in a voice ever so broken-
What Am I?

My skin is severed by the sewerage that splashes over me like a filthy decoration,
And I slowly crawl for cover like a painted chameleon-
In search of a more forgiving change of season…
Praying my prayers will reach ears more helpful,
Raising my voice to a sound ever so powerful,
Shouting the question like a furious fool-
Ah! What Am I?

Blindly, I watch you look away,
Brightly, Luke-warm temper flashes across your face like a shy demon,
When I clutch at your clean clothes and you turn as if expecting the bleeding woman,
Then flush your eyes with Messianic empathy…
Wishing to forget the disdain that is my mask,
Wishing to forget these stains on my face when I laugh and coldly ask-
What Am I?

These dry lips speak volumes about my silent muse;
They tell testing tales of the trails of cracks that cut across them.
My tongue tastes like dry litmus,
Each time I remember forgotten tastes in my mouth-
Each time I try to recall, I cry out for the bitter truth,
And I sing it out like a personal anthem-
Oh-What Am I?

I wish this sound stretches to the pits of your soul,
I hope this voice reaches the fringes of your thoughts.
I believe this cry won’t wane down to a lowly howl,
For I know you will stop in your hasty steps,
When I yell to you, as I would with my dying breaths…
What Am I?

By Chege