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I wonder how they do it

I mean live this life

The good life they call it

While  I sit here all day – TRAPPED

My eyes belies the anguish in my heart

Will I continue to live the good life and die never to have lived?

A woman is kicked by her boss

Battered until she loses her seed seven months nourished

I see Mary on the street, everyday with her three little ones

Begging pennies for pie

While children of lone, lost villages scramble eagerly under the banyan tree

Seeking the magic that is education

We are living the good life

I will not know heat

My children will not know hunger

They will see snow and the harmattan

Shuttling between both globes like the jet -age children they are

But they will never know the magic of growing a crop

Or sit by a quiet rural stream as a sunset kisses the land

They will not hear the sweet bleating of goats

Nor the morning cries of sparrows by windows

Dances by moonlight will be forever lost to them

Like it is lost to the others and is lost to me

And I sit here all day

Unable to unlock the chains that binds me to conform

Unwilling to discard the good life I desire for myself, for my children

It is an 8 to 4, in the city center, with medicals and housing schemes

It’s the good life and I’ve got it and I’m TRAPPED!

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