robert otim

Rookie - 0 Points (04/02/1985 / sudan)

Street Of Hell - Poem by robert otim

Growing up on the street of hell is a painful story to tell mom, but if I ever had the time, I would tell her about the day I survive the bloody night. My only fear is I hope she would understand and forgive her son.
Street of hell is a hill top to my fallen half, but after today only blood should remain.
Sorry to tell you this ma
It all started on the early Sunday morning when I easily wake up on the wrong side of the bed and choose to turn my back on the tradition.
It was a sick morning and I had to trick my mom to believe I was too ill to accompany her to the house of worship
The second my dear mom step out the door, I put on my street clothes with a matching hat leaning to the back of my neck
I walk down Hell Street to find the usual spot and kick it with my companion
Assemble back around the corner and the beat of the usual conversations began to spit
I heard Buck and Duck going at it on how hard life is
Buck said he wish for fun day; Duck said thrown a rock at anything you see
One rock Buck, two rock Duck and a drive by car came to stop
A simple question was ask by the driver but Buck and Duck couldn’t hear it
911 ring the driver cell phone, at the tick of a second I heard a familiar sound and
It was a black and white train
It was a long line of cop’s buddies who were in the habit
Hell Street have been known for a blood dropp and a cops never marched in for a conversation
Buck and duck knew the routine; they took a one two steps and sprint for it
The meeting is over but I was too tied to run away
I stood my ground and listen to the driver converse in my face
The cops were too busy running after the fugitive
Buck and Duck have been wanted on the entire poster down hell Street and today is the day they ran for it.
I thought about pushing the driver off my face but I was too lazy to do it
The driver was mad but I had to go home
I slowly walk and sprint around the corner to my house
I set in front of my TV and I heard the reporter said “blood have been spilt on hell street today”
It was the worse news to hear on Sunday, Buck and Duck were long gone and never to be seen again.
Growing up on the street of hell is a painful story to tell mom, but if I ever had the time, I would tell her about the day I survive the bloody night. My only fear is I hope she would understand and forgive her son.


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Poem Submitted: Friday, June 19, 2009



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