Homeless man, have you been to a tap lately? Your face looks hard and caked with dirt. Do you know the coolness of water on your face? Do you look forward to its lingering caress down your cheek like I do? or do you go on, without a care and your heart content.
Is your belly filled like mine? With tasty treats and spicy meats.
Do you scrounge and scavenge for emptiness to fill your stomach?
Do you sleep at night like I do? Warm, safe. Or do you dread the cold fingers of the night as they caress and stroke and engulf.
Do you worship the African sun like I do? Or do you dread its heat? For you cannot take anything off. Like a snail you carry all your belongings with you. Saddened and burdened. Tired and hungry.
Why do you dress like I do not? In old clothes tattered and torn. In rags and dirt and plastic bits. Do you not worry about the seasons? The colours I wouldn't be seen in?
Do you preen and admire your reflection as I do? Or do you turn away in distaste and spit at the sight of your winter ravished face.
When the dawn comes and the African sun rises do you see the world like I do? Do you think about your life and kick yourself for the dreams you let go? Or do you hope for a meal? A smile and a coin in your hand? Those things that I take for granted as I rant and rave at the Africa that lies barren in front of me.