Friends with the poor

By: FIDELIS SUKINA

Aged and deranged an old man is walking

 

Silent but diligent, crouched and humped backed,

I cry a silent tear for an elder, a sad old man so help him God.

Every ounce of energy a welcome to this hard worker, laziness never brings him much,

He walks the dusty streets of Moresby, slinging a flour bag,

For cans and bottles he forages, through the stink of drains and rubbish drums.

How can a man like me see you and just walk away? 

How can I a simple middle class Papua New Guinean give you my last bus fare and walk home?

I ask myself and leave with the thought of you lingering toward home.

I lay awake and think where the poor old man will lay tonight, 

Thunder striking cold shivers and a bed sheet over my body,

But the old man sits under a broken down shelter, cold and frail,

Praying to God for a life more than this,

Perhaps maybe a good gesture will find him tomorrow.

Another day another dollar, for me and the old man I just hope tomorrow brings me joy,

And for the old man, well let’s just say he is now my good friend.