You have been overworked for hours, painstakingly doing what you don’t like, but for circumstances sake you give in.
The time in your wristwatch says 7:00pm, but you feel it’s joined the whole world to deceive you into thinking that your body is an overstressed and worn out old wagon that has lost most of its efficiency washed away in the shores of the years. You think it’s lying.
As you whisper to yourself ‘maybe I must be tired’, your voice seems so shaky that your soul believes it’s heard a ghost— What is funny is that it’s your ghost.
Everyday you trek to your place of work just so you can find a chance to devour anything fed to you all in the name of a wage. Lifting cement pans has fed your eyes with more than mixture, as your hair gives way—just at the middle of your hair, forming a wide circle of bald—in obedience to your daily unapologetic process of placing large bowls of mixed sand, cement and water to be carried over 60 yards in every 3mins— to and from. A process you desperately distresses, but for the comfort of a meal, man must werk.
Sometimes your tongue discovers within its abode the debris of your daily works. But it’s no big deal anymore because, for you, half stone is better than none. Sometimes it wishes it could cuss on you, but it waits patiently for the scattered colonies of sand to make exit—which never happens.
For you appendicitis has not been much of a concern since you arrived at the city, the main worry in this country is to feed, then try not to die. But death is the very thing some people live for. So then, you think to yourself
‘God gave Adam Eden, but the adamant man preferred hunting to a peaceful farming lifestyle. Hmmmm… Seems despicable of him (Adam)’
As most nights and days are spent without the expectation of seems sunshine— hunger masterminds this attempted homicide. But it seems life has some more cards up his sleeve, as far as your tongue can still taste the warmth of the 6am morn, it won’t be a bad idea sampling the neighborhood local restaurant’s beans porridge once again.
‘aaargh some days be gloomy, some days be hectic. But in all, we thank God for life.’
After much reflections upon your life, the navy blue sky and street lights, moving vehicles you see and the traffic of thoughts within your mind all harmoniously play a hazardous reminder of what life you’re living—an unfulfilled one.
You smile to yourself as you push though thoughts away, the future still is holds brightness for an 18 year old city dweller who’s a couple of months old into town life. People may call you lowlife. But you are convinced if you didn’t die today, you won’t die yet.
You mentally comfort yourself with a smile connoting a pat on the back.
‘Giving up is for the rich’, you say as you walk past your past, hoping to find destination in tomorrow.
We are Enigma Ink 