Photo by mwangi gatheca on Unsplash


I’m a walking dead, a zombie from the underworld,

Passing through life, but I’ve seen the other world,

Poverty and depression, already read a couple of suicide notes,

From young age witness to heartbreak, some of jealousy in grave rots.


Always on my knees, mama said always remember to talk to God,

Maybe I just want to test Him, or truly need His help with this load,

What if I’m talking to myself, I quickly open my eyes,

Maybe I have little faith, maybe it’s all nothing but lies.


On the rooftop ready to fly, I want to touch the sky,

Believe I can achieve it, the only limit should be the sky,

My dream calling, I’m a charging hippo stand on my way and see your end,

This game is life and death like Russian roulette, when it all falls down I’ll repent.


With bleeding feet and calloused hands kept moving, the ones before me said it’s the only way,

No matter what never stop moving, got to the crossroad and chose the least used hopeful it’ll pay,

The dirty and narrow path in the Bible leads to paradise, story of God’s wisdom,

But was I misled, most likely because I got to the end and there was no Kingdom.


On top of a cliff and it’s slippery, I’m falling,

Cold and alone, no one can hear me calling,

All I ever wanted was to fly, guess luck was never on my side,

Life left me to crash to the bottom of the abyss, a fatal ride.


Another night at her bedside, in hand is only her rosary,

Praying for each one of us, doesn’t want us to live in misery,

Lost everything so we can have it all, my siblings and I,

Wanted us to elevate, she wanted us to rise up high.


The sad story of my poor mama, God knows she deserves the best,

A seat with the greats, a smile on her lips and spark in her eyes my quest,

A beautiful house with a huge garden full of roses, watching sunrise from her bedroom not the farm,

Never fun working in grown cassava farm in the morning, the cold dew on frail body can cause pneumonia and other bodily harm.


How did I get myself here, brightest star and the only cock to crow,

Picture of a casket in mind, desperately holding on to the last straw,

Hope like Jesus lost it all out of love, or maybe lost my soul out of hate,

Drowned myself in self-pity, if that’s the case then that is my fate.


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.