I am addicted to the street life,
The street girls that wont make a wife,
The head lights flashing in my eyes,
The tall ****** having glossy waxed thighs;

I am accustomed to the police chase,
The constant fear of sitting in one place,
The drugs and smell of cigar-**** in the air,
And the disgust in the eyes of passers-by as they stare;

I am acquainted to the quick cash for fancy cars,
The possible bullet wounds and permanent scars,
The big booties in the clubs across the street,
And the VIP seats that usually comes with it;

I crave for the knife fights and gang wars,
The fake ideas that i will die for a just course,
The hijacked lamborgini i wil bring to grandma,
The idea that "******" in my neighbourhood will call me master;

Indeed i am fooled by what i see in music videos,
The gangsters turned musicians acting in these videos,
Who end up broke,shattered and in dismay,
Naa, i will stick to the deligence that brings the good pay.

Sentient street,
As we walk through the gates of sentience,
Like a child,I quirked my head,
Left~right and back with innocence,
To glimpse at their seemly slums;a nimble haul of dread,
Tucked me,as I gander the miscellany artistry,
The winsome combs on their chambers,
By builders and framers,
For all;but the aesthetics I knew belonged to the affluent,
An erudition I needed not to imbibe as a student,

Oblivious of myself;I spotted their melancholic eyes in their inscriptions,
And read the histories and encryptions,
The stares they gave tremored my heart,
And tore the arteries apart,
My soul wept for their bereavement but tears was deficit in my eyes,

As I march to the yard of his repose;I said"A journey we shall all embark"
Gawking at the annexation of other chambers,as grief berserks,
I got there,

I stood meters afar and stared,
As the priest blessed the yard;And prayed for his soul,
Conferring him into the bossom of his maker,
And instructing the digger afterwards;to dump him into the hole,
His folks quaker,
And bade him their farewell with flowers,
In their last hour,

But as they fetch sands and stones to wrap him,
In their faces I saw grim,
When the diggers spat and slapped;his coffin with stones and shovels,
For this has been their long awaited muscle,
And in deligence;they deliver,
"This journey I will embark too"I said,
As I stood in my shiver,
And withdrew and left in mopes.


Sentient Street
©Historian E.Lexano