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(27-04-88 / Port harcourt, Nigeria.)

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The Drunkard

I searched his eyes in the briefest of moments,
I looked in places no one did,
And saw the emptiness of his soul.

In that split of second,
I heard his soul cry for help,
Like a man set ablaze in his own abode.

I felt the stench of his breath,
The smell of his rotten soul,
Fouled by the odour of liquor.

I watched as he staggered on,
Barely keeping his feet on the ground,
As he walked away from my sight.

I felt the regret in his mind
the sorrow he singly bore
As he muttered words unheard

I saw children greet him with scorn
And he in vain his hurt repress,
As he gently he muted voice cursed.

I wathed him stagger beyond my sight.
I read from him a history of paid,
one only woeful men said.

Submitted: Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, November 20, 2013


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