Homeless Poem by Osazee Dankaro

I wake up once again to the sounds:
footsteps, muted voices and motor cars.
The night had been very short,
and the same noises kept me awake

Every sound shatters my peace:
In the middle of the night it was the cars, at intervals
Then as the darkness slowly crept away,
The footsteps and muted voices joined.

In frustration, I have drawn my wrapper to cover my head
The cold is slipping in, and I turn to my side in contentment
My body is now as hard as the concrete bed on which I lie
It is morning, the sweetest part of the night.

Now my wrapper can no longer block out daylight
Through its thinness, I can now see as well as hear
Home, they say ought to be, a place of harmony and tranquility
Why then is my house different?

Well, it is the same everyday, so I pick up all my earthly assets
Put on my slippers and join the stream of footsteps, voices and motor cars.
My bed is no longer mine, my home is gone till the night:
My bed is the pavement, and my home is on the road

3.06pm
26/02/2015