Murraming, Not Tarmacking Poem by kelvin karani

There is no tarmac here,

Just this murram road

That has turned my

Black shoes brown

And threatens to tear them

Whenever the rains come



I rap at almost all the doors

That apparently lead to offices

Only to meet people with dumb faces

Feigning the seriousness of town people

Who have been alienated from their society

And even their own selves.



Schools and village organizations

Turn me down for my qualifications

Which have surpassed their expectations.

Their budgets are even inimical

To people offering to work as volunteers.

They can’t afford they say



I have to find something though

Lest I loose my way

In the forests of water-allergic village girls.

Or in the labyrinth of footpaths

Leading to the myriad local brew dens

Selling their un-adulterated liquors.