This tale isn't from the best, Not of the best of womb, For a fellow who had strived all his life, Not just to make ends meet, But to fill the space created by hunger, And the power to pursue a dream, The storms of life is already burying, Like a capsized ship in the belly of the sea. From the time of dryness like the sand of the desert, Those times when he had to go to bed on empty stomach, And to wake is a mirage of doom, Holding fate of life as a disadvantaged, Little boy with so many worries, Sick and abandoned, Forsaken under a leaking roof in a mud house, Where scorpions and snakes crip to hide.
Orphaned at ten, Homeless at eleven, He became responsible to himself from then, Seeking only to be better, In a harsh society that careless, Life in Niger-area isn't the worse, But the peopling is nothing a good tale, The farm of fairness is looted.
Now the hopeless are more hopeless, The weak have no shoulders to rest on, Poor and vulnerable yet he lived, Searching the creeks for mudfish to sell. And make a living through school, That seem to be his only way to pay back, Walking the aisle of the school yard, Bear footed all year long, Until he had realized his mission for starting. The tide has turned to him, Building castles where only tach houses were, Giving himself up for the servitude the very people who denied him, Battled the echelon of decayed infrastructure society, This is the man who had no shows but ready to make shoes for others to wear, He is ready to build empathy where there was resentment, Grace out of grace, Resilience out of defeat, What manner of love can a man have for his people?
your post has been curated by king of dentistry @alend