The Cup Poem by Martins Akhoeneto

At dusk, the engines coughed their acrid smoke;
A weary youth sought refuge from his care.
A cup was passed—a jest, a whispered joke—
To drown the weight he could no longer bear.

He drank; the burden briefly lost its name;
The street grew soft; his senses slipped away.
Yet pleasure's silk concealed addiction's flame,
And bound his restless heart to debt each day.

His books grew strange; his treasured laptop fled;
His mother's prayers beat faint against his door.
Then Emeka fell; terror filled his head.
The empty cup revealed the debt he bore.

He watched the rain erase the smoke-black street;
The empty cup lay gleaming at his feet.