The Nostalgic Walk Of Habesh...

His background made him, he dreamt higher, he entitled his mind Dubai meets Rio.  He was a product of an urban slum with a dream of producing the goods for his people. To be quite frank he weren’t scared to admit he shed four tears the size of an ocean. He just wanted to sit back, stroke his head, let the thoughts flow and swim good. Unfortunately his negative thoughts appeared with a black suit on, roaming around his mind like they were ready for a funeral.

He tried to block it out, wished they were driven away, so that only 5 more miles remained until the road ran out. The government named him an under achiever, he didn’t believe in himself sometimes. He thought he wasn’t able to test fate, he just dreamt that he lived long enough to see the next weekend. His distance grew from God, he told himself he was living for the present , as to him the future didn’t exist. Where was the voice of reason amongst the painful cries of the world, children going to bed hungry, children of the slums fending for themselves not getting tucked in by mummy.

The cries fell on deaf ears, the baron world filled with the echoes of silence. Thursday was his birthday, but he didn’t care, he just looked at it as another day.  He looked at it as just another day in the life to survive. The cameras were on, he was the main character of his story that viewed life as a movie, he felt independent, it was him against the city. He was strong willed with a tough upper lip, he wanted no pity. He needed to recognise he wasn’t alone on the streets of Addis Ababa, so he headed for church in the hope to repent .He was in search of forgiveness for his wrong doings, secretly wishing for a sign that was heaven sent.

Typical fall from grace was his story, quite similar to another well-known figure. His desperation grew, his hope of knowing God grew a little bigger. The same night he came in, is the same night he left , he knew deep down it wasn’t for him . So he whispered his view, scared to talk with an inner voice saying “are you a man son say it from your chest.” The inner confliction present, to recognise sometimes there’s no church in the wild. Everyone heard in the room what the preacher said, but he felt that wasn’t the whole narrative. He told himself the words coming from the front were lies on the lips of a priest.

His mind elsewhere he zoned out, when he woke up he found himself at the bar 8 shots deep in. You only live once he slurred out, Getting X’d for the night was the motto that he promoted. So drunk he got up on stage with the karaoke and began to sing. He was just another singing black man within the promise land, but this time he was singing to further drown his sorrows. He had enough of everything the breakdown compounded, he headed for the boot. Drunkenly shouted to the heavens call me Moses from now on, grabbed a big stick held to his head. It too one shot to part it, as he lie on the floor he was surrounded by the remains of a red sea. A single murmur was heard, a laugh maybe within the world of knowledge. The knowledge which knew his fate, look at life like a library if you will, as the pages turn to dust so will we, but for his death I even said there will be tears of doubt, as a troubled heart was he.