Man In The Street Poem by raymond letsitsa

I don't know how far
I can hold this
The art has given me such
a great spiritual bliss
If Christ was a thief
he would've forsakened Judas with
the same kiss,
but not for the same coin
Giving his life to the Devil like the
bloodbath brotherhoods you like to join
You molest that teenage boy
and sexually break his groin
Describe this as poverty if you will,
Purse snatching is a very great skill
If tormented by my hunger
and the glue I smoke inside my clothes
My language modified by
the street life a hobo that everybody loathes
My face greasy like carburetors
I live a life nobody knows
Sleeping in a tunnel with poop smells,
that's how it goes
I'm not the kind you wanna invite
to your many poetry shows
I'm surrounded by dirt like swine
and I smell like a cesspool
Torture me in front of my people
the results won't be cool
I long for clothes, food and shelter
from the rain
I ran from my first refuge
and now live my life in the drain
I can't dance to save my belly
poverty possesses my mind
I stumble over blocks
with my eyes open like the blind
Wouldn't have gone through
the same reality if life was lived on a puddle
I'm hungrier than Somalia,
powerless to the demons you often bind
Sleep in the midst of the road like
it's my home
My kind spread like a
disease from South Africa to Rome
Might seem like a madman when
in the night the streets I roam
Cleansing my body with saliva on stone
My kind is better off when left alone
To my garbage picking
Just pass me by in the streets,
my body odor is no cause for panicking