She teetered
on
the city’s corridor
to survive
The corridor
was not her place
but
her space
Nothing significant
to call “mine”
“She knows no shame ”
most people remarked
You could not
but questioned yourself
Questions out
of reasoning
or
from sheer curiosity
of this scenario
Questions
with
no clear-cut answers
Derived answers
with
no vital proofs
Yet,
this’ intriguing to us all
Look!
There, she stands today
Occupied with
what’s considered
by many as “undignified”
Undignified
in definition and relations
In relations to time
space and acts
Look at her
over there
In yawn,
she opened her mouth
Her mouth
wide opened
from fatigue
Fatigue
that’s so obvious
for us to see
And quite evident
from her appearance
You need not
be a physician
to deduce from your
first sighting of her
How frail she looks
and
her shaggy appearance
in contrast
to our city’s standard
You can see
that
she’s passed her prime
She looked aged
and possibly
in her mid-seventies
you’d have rightly guessed
And if you’ve walked by
or
driven through this route
you’d have noticed
her eccentric, yet, striking makeup
Even though she wore
the same cloth
almost every day
Yet, her cloth
was neither
tattered nor dirty
Look!
Look straight to the left
Adjacent to that road
There!
Can you see that?
See,
that cold wooden slab bench
over there
That‘s her bed
and abode
The scorching heat
at noon
is her torturing friend
The unforgiving
cold night
is her cruel lover
And the
unamused weather elements
were her sentence
But there again
she stands today
Presumably with
a hungry stomach
she starts
her routine
While her hungry stomach
quakes and rumbles
Quaking occasionally
like the
speedy falling lightning
in the East
And you can bet
that
the rumblings of her stomach
sounded like the
sudden gush of a waterfall
into
a narrow-mouthed bottle
Sure,
her stomach must have
danced
for some substance
Substance to nourish
her body
and food to numb
the pangs of hunger
Just a morsel of bread
and
some crumbs of eatables
Small or large enough
to line the wall
of her gut for a fill
But no,
she never had a hold
on that
What a struggle for survival?
Look
You can see that
she seems weak today
as on most days
But not too weak
to stand
at our city’s corridor
in outstretched hands
to passersby
Outstretched hands
of her aren’t empty
but filled
with several pieces of rare flowers
To sell in exchange
for some few coins
she must have hoped
For some few coins
to survive
And on our few coins
to stay put
Assuredly enough,
her flowers
delight the eyes
for a few seconds
But the enchantment
didn’t summon
the money
in our purses or pockets
Few earned coins
from us
in this city’s corridor
she’s willing to exchange
Coins in exchange
for her
delicate wildflowers
Dainty flowers
still in their raw form
Flowers
not well packaged
to our corridor’s standard
Wildflowers
with fresh scents
of loam soil and forest
Flowers
not so common
but yet somewhat
pleasing to our eyes
But seeing her again
on our city’s corridor
this morning
would have
made you wondered
What are her chances of survival?
Aren’t her ordeals
much more
than her rewards?
Don’t her costs
prove too surplus than
her revenues?
Yet,
her access to hope
and her terms to remunerate
was on our corridor
Our city’s corridor
is
her platform
A struggle for survival
or
a fight for relevance?
That’s still
unbeknown to many
Not fully aware
of the significance of
her struggle for survival
on this city’s corridor
_ _
** This is a true account of a particular woman’s survival on the city’s corridor that was observed by the author (Tosin Adebayo) and penned in poetry
_ _
Her Struggle for Survival on this City’s Corridor
_ _
See more Stories & Poems
Author’s Contact: tosin (at) myplacestory (dot) com Inquiries: info@myplacestory.com
I hope this poetry or story or score or work helps stir your imagination, broaden your perspective & unlock the doors for your yet-unknowns.
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