Mzi Mahola

Today, finally in this blog, a poem from Africa.

HOUSE OF THE POOR

When I was a little boy
I never questioned why
A solitary path
Led from a poor man’s hut.

Why it zigzagged
Like the trail of a wounded beast.

Now that I’m a burdened man
I know why the rich are troubled
When we grumble.

© 2000, Mzi Mahola, South Africa
From:When rains come
Publisher: Carapace Poets, an imprint of Snailpress, South Africa