It was, one of those, dreary days
I measured, her soul, with equator
Who visits Africa, sketchily, says
“Her ethos, is, pain’s satire”!
He came, and stood, by me, in the queue
For the bus, to Tema, from Accra
And at me, threw, his bare bum’s view
Thru the, threadbare pants, I deemed ‘faux pas’!
His feminine form, and luscious lips
Did stir, my manhood, unawares
“Is this, the way, he daily, strips
For a living, wrecked by, shame, sweat, and tears!”
He held, my hand, and kissed, it too
Then made me, grope thru, his rib-cage
“10 Cedis, to feast on, African virtue”
And I felt, a lost land’s, soul’s outrage!
I pressed a, 100 Cedi note, deep down, his hollow fist
And gazed, at humankind’s, defeat
The prejudice, of, history’s heist
That Lonesome Lad On Accra Street!
© 2019 Vikas Chandra