POETIC JUSTICE 169 -ByMshinaram Warigon Ahrey

WHEN MY FACE TELLS TALES

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Just look without prejudice
I am a product of injustice
I have walked on hard roads with misery
And swum in the deep blue sea of poverty
Each mark deeply etched is a tale
That has the chord choired in hell

I have a map on my face
That directs the unknowing eyes to my inherited roots
I come from a dark place
Where wolves like werewolves wrest wills to the woods
Bereft of light, I walk with sightless sigh
Dazed in my troubles that make me high

I am the cynosure of deriding eyes
Children scurry away from my face
They think a tiger tore my face
Songs sung by many, telling a million lies
About my face, a reflection of my race
What is marked in permanence never dies

In every foreign land
Their stares were bland
They thought I was a mere charity case
Because my tribe was marked on my face
A Boniface, bearing burned face
Mine are always the darkest days

If only I could turn back the tide
And cripple the hands of time
Miracled time can take back ride
And restore what was mine
But alas a wishful thinking
Is just precious time wasting
Copyright©William Warigon™ 2019

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