For the street child...


REGRET

What is it to regret when you had no choice?

When your father's bride kicked you out, yet colored you bad and named you evil child?

When home became the stairwell of the crumbling building left in your father's bourgeois neighborhood?

When the ills of gentrification glaringly contrasted the reality of the infamous slum it had come to replace?

When your education - sorry, mis-education - was on the streets, by the streets and for the streets?

When your cradle song was the clamor of thieves and thugs and the humming of the degenerate municipality you now called home?

When you gathered your intent was now judge and jury for your deeds?

When late one night, this weird looking Negro picks you up and out of the streets and is blabbing and yapping all these dreams he has for you?

When this weird looking Negro breathes fire into you, reforms and gives you back your name, your life and your purpose?

When all you needed was that break, that nudge, that guide off the broken path that seemed to have evaded you all these years?

When consequently, a world of achievement and excellence becomes your vista?

When against all odds you thrived and crazy beautiful is your life's story, yet you keep feeling the need to apologize for all the wrongs you have endured?

What is it to regret?




Words by olushola ode
Read 773 times
Written on 2015-06-02 at 16:02

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
What a wonderful story. It contains all the elements for a life's epic. Regrets are nothing but spilled milk.
2015-06-05