To say that life wasn’t fair would make it sound like he was the only captive incarcerated under the ogling eyes of poverty. He needed not to say much about himself as his poverty status gave a voice to his personality. A voice that could be heard by the deaf, smelt through blocked nostrils, felt by the dead, seen by the blind but hated to be tasted by all.  There was nothing desirable about it, as it was deficient in all comeliness. His shirt had holes littered over it, his trousers smeared with grease, his body oozed, emitting a smell that could make one puke his intestines and his hair was a safe habitat for bugs. This was the normal life he ever knew.

           

Coming Soon................