Born with the curse of poverty,

In a pit of a Hell,

I never got the chance to dream like,

Everyone else.

Always haunted by the phantom of tomorrow,

I wasn’t allowed to dream,

But was someone who just grow up,

Chasing a gleam.

One fine day, they came to me,

Telling me, I can also live.

And have a right to dream.

Endowed me a book in my hand,

And a meal in other to keep me going unrestrained.

I learnt how to write,

Had a daily meal to eat with pride.

 I began to see,

 Even in the darkness of night.

 Finally, I started hoping a Life.

Every next day,

Was an adventure in itself.

My journey from home to school,

Was like hell to heaven.

As we say,

Good days are rare,

 And bad ones keep stare,

One common day,

They served us poison,

Carelessly or consciously,

Which I don’t know.

But they killed the spirit,

Inside a nurturing Soul.

They killed that single hope,

Which I fear,

Will hardly ever grow!

I