When The Light Goes Out Poem by Martins Akhoeneto

When I had bread, they knew my door;
Their slippers crowded my kitchen floor.
They called me brother, shared my chair,
And swore that I would always be there.

I broke my bread and watched it spread,
I gave them mine and went without.
I thought their love had taken root;
I never knew it fed on what I had.

Then hardship came. My pockets thinned.
The doors once open would not yield.
My phone lay silent through the night;
I watched its screen until dawn broke.

I read old chats until my eyes grew sore,
Then scrolled through names I could not call.
The mouths I fed forgot my name;
The hands I held let go of mine.

One night, I cooked what little I could afford,
Then ate alone beside the silent door.
A knock came softly from next door;
For one brief second, I thought they had returned.

But no one came. The food went cold.
I covered it and left it there.
At dawn, I found it as I had left it:
A full plate on a table set for two.