#73 Poetry – Disparate

Man, meri, pikinini
waite man, black man, olgeta lain.

Passerby’s pass on by
in quick strides,
shunned, avert eyes,
seeing what can’t be unseen

– Lukim em,
em sanap na lukim

She squints to look.
There, beyond the glass of safety
laid barren hope, dreams, ruined.

Despair, etched deep into frail wrinkles
like the cracked path they led,

leading them down here to where the crumbling mortar, hanging from moss ridden bricks was their clothes in tethers, pealing from their damp skins.

Pasim ai, karamapim nus, sakim het.

The putrid stench of failure,
hopelessness seeks desperation,
rising from the viscous substance
crawling to makeshift drains
tunnelling beneath her feet,

moving.

Saitim ai, inap lo’ luk luk,
wokabaut igo.

Her pace harkens for quick strides,
her squint disappears behind dark shades.
Her phone had seen enough.

-Hans Lee