Friday, Happy Oyamenda
The Man From Philadephia - Poem by Friday, Happy Oyamenda
… Bathing dully in his pains, he collapsed. He was rushed
To the hospital as his situation at the moment demanded. It was quite obvious that his life like a nightmare of a stinking blackness, as of a running river, was running out him. Awakening into a wave of blinding pains, he restlessly feared the end of the beginning that now governed his body.
His body quivered in disbelief, eyes turned sore; for sanctuary suddenly became a morgue. The place that cradled him tenderly now burnt in fear and discrimination against him.
Many years of his life had been lost into the shadow of history. With a faded voice of whisper, “where is the city of brotherly love? ” he said, with his pale-grey eyes flitting ironiously from face to face, with streaming steamy tears, turning it away as soon as he caught anyone’s eyes. At this, he expired into oblivion. His mouth was agape into horror as he travelled the road of death into the misty clouds…
The virus didn’t kill him, but social prejudice!
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