Setting off to school
With the sun falling down behind him.
He drags his dented dream in a black vision.
Carrying an empty lunchbox of hope.
A disillusioned assemble of textbooks.
With an assaulted stomach and a heart in pieces.

His fists were ready to fight his poverty with education.
But now it darkens as his empty fees bill
Forces his arse out of school.

The benches in class were always cold anyway.
And everyone in the elite private school laughed at him.
And to begin with, the Lord has never heard his prayers
In all three seasons of the year.
But he was rock solid on one day is one day.

Now his dreams flush into a dark hole of endless poverty.
He eats sand with his wishes to be a doctor one day.
For now hustling will do.
To be fair, God was never fair on the eleven year old.

Lord forgive our trespasses heading to a tin house
That sways with the wind solely in the midst of busy Soweto.
In the midst of the electricity he sought light in helpless candles.

He lies next to a praying woman
But still prayers remain in vain for now at least.
His bitter father rules him like an iron fist.