Where Are Those Days? Poem by Chukwukere Timothy

Poverty waged war against us,
We're poverty-stricken
Cursed fattened and ill looking
Like a frail under the spell of hunger.
How unpleasant to behold
How diabolical poverty has become.
Penurious and abashed,
Lowered and humbled by lack.
What pain,
The cold night in our horrible cell
Without a crumb
What shame,
The rags we pride ourselves in
Were meant for trash bin.
we sweep the whole town with our legs
Praying to pick up crumbs
To Feed the devils in our stomach.

There were days my daddy became a mommy.
I use to go to college hangry,
Coming back to grow more furious
When mama opens the pot
And all I found is a drop of tears that streamed down her cheeks.
Those days I slept and prayed never to wake,
And cursed existence when I see the sunrise.
Father couldn't save the family
He was growing feeble and frail at his thirty's.
Its like mom wasn't feeling the pain.
She's always encouraging and praying.
But the struggle was written all over her face too
by the mighty hand of hunger
As poverty was manifested to the syllable.
But where are those days?
They're all gone like vapours
Carried away by the trespassing breeze.
-C. Timothy jr.2016