Her hand clinging the purse and tray
Fluanting love to her customers, as she prays
Though young,but looks brave
With her lips dried,white and open
Inviting water,into her mouth.
The girl in the East,though from the south
The content of her tray almost like her shirt
All ears awaiting a call
Enumerating her steps hoping she doesn’t fall
The young girl i saw yesterday,
Got me carried away,
My first visit to Aba. -Bangwan
Some of us were born grown
While some of us got the chance to grow
Thus into the sea of hustles of life we were fully thrown
The dining table depended on how many times we went to and fro
She knows the Aba streets and it’s squalour
To the tourist on her tray she is a trusted guide
Her red purse praying the reason for her tour doesn’t stay fallow
So it’s return home shall be swollen with pride
Some have called it child labour
But the family sees in you a favour
It’s smile depends on your sore soles
Without you the tale of Aba is like a bucket with holes. ~ Tee2emm
Yesterday in Aba
On the angry road we sang in broken and tired tongues
parked hip to hip tightened like in a girdle grip
grinding to the juggle of charred metal
make way, yellow ponies splurge in mud
A stench senile reign these streets
we counted a Thousand gorges
feasted on ‘abacha’ and coconut fringes
the exhaust fumes smoldering
Aba to Onitsha, Agbor and Benin
DJ boom box voom fill our ear drums
but I didn’t fail to notice the little girl ,her sweat for sweet
these mean streets that can eat dreams. -Bash Amuneni
Chidi is a broken bone
a distant blood sieving through our burning house.
We moved back to back
with poverty and slump wealth.
Nneka is a wrong answer
we tried to erase her
because she’s dragging us back
Pills and potions are her therapy
I begged God to find a bed for her to lay.
He answered with an Ejike.
Now I bend under the sky
with no school but insanity of the street.
I am raised to have a uniform ‘hawking’
Hawking is a cruel friend
It’s the only conversation I have,
but I think it’s because I live in Aba – Rudolph
Bonicarp had a first love,
It certainly wasn’t lifting hands and waving the dove,
Neither is it hearing the birds squeak
Whilst building their nest.
Comfort and Calister got enrolled in school.
Her friends,so she got her own tool.
Yes,a tool that was metal in nature
It balanced on her head for local meat .
The green fungus didn’t break on her infant skin nay penetrating oversize shorts.
She ran along luxurious cars for a penny
A wealthy penny she took to granny,
Winds blew unwanted dirt and sand slapped her lids,
Grace to her she sold every bit.-Rachel Charles