Questions to Ask in South Africa #2
The same poem written in my own style.
She wanders the streets day and night
In search of food, robbed from her belly.
Gazing through windows at the guarded families
Safe in their warm, constant caves.
She asks herself, ‘What about me?’
She passes a street lamp
Which casts her shadow into a dodgy alley.
Yet the next has been shattered,
‘broken-down’ like so many others.
She asks herself, ‘And what will they do?’
On past the houses, broken and crumbling.
People packed into every room,
Like sardines into a tin.
The shop windows are dark
Gawking, as wicked, evil eyes.
She asks herself, ‘Does anyone really care?’
She will go another night, hungry and cold.
She might even live for the next week.
But she asks herself, ‘For how long?’
When will it end; How will it end?
Here in this place, no one truly knows.
Don’t worry about her,
Just keep worrying about you
It’s what you’re best at.
And still she remains with no answers...
