A SUICIDE NOTE.
His face shone like the moon,
For reasons unknown to either him
Or the moon,
He stepped out of the door reluctantly,
As if being forced out of his house by unseen arms...
He stopped for a minute and looked up to the sky,
The same way kids in the village do when the big 'bird' fly by,
Memories of the village always hit him hard since luck walked out of him,
The same way stench would choke you after moving to a slum from a rich neighborhood,
Success is now a stranger once known to him,
The paradox of life which puzzled him,
Of how paupers now address him as though they're familiars;
As they share in the agony of abject poverty,
Happiness is now a gone girl to him,
Once betrothed to him,
But now eloped with misfortune,
Left to the venomous fangs of the city,
Left to the sharp claws of the city,
At every corner he takes to opportunity.
The illicit liquor hadn't worked,
It didn't numb the bitterness towards his misfortunes,
But clouded him with sadness,
Of hopes and dreams unrealized.
He didn't have the money needed,
To tune the ears of prospective employers,
But since poverty is the incentive to creativity,
He always made it through the day,
Excluding those that were a stillbirth,
And he had to sleep without a bath,
The memories of his older brother made him shudder,
Every time he thought of picking what isn't his,
For bullets turned Doe into a sieve in the broad daylight,
Behind the gun was the hand of the law,
The one in front of the gun didn't live forever.
Some dreams still clung on to him though so feeble,
A couple of colossal bungalows,
All but lost in this city,
Failure all over him like scars on the body,
How many are like him out there? he wondered…
The life in Nairobi,
He thought as he still stared to the sky, was kicking him out...
A brown envelope in one hand, a brown rope in the other,
He isn't sure.