Always fighting to please my boss in cheers,
My eyelids were flaccid
Having poured tears for long
My only shirt was tasty
Salty for my tears,
My weak posture betrayed me,
Where third parties were,
He could force threads of concern,
"Are you okay?"
Not just uttering but in a soothing caring language,
It wasn't concern but to please guests,
"No,I contracted malaria."
I had to save his good nature,
And imagine in all my honesty,
He overworked me,
His tummy needed my food
His fields needed my weeding,
His cows needed my milking,
But worst,
HIS **** NEEDED MY *****
Yet in all these,
He had a wife,
He chased his shamba boy,to add mine salary
Which was a top up of my day's meals.
In all,I stood against poverty,
And tailored my life.