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.