Broken down bare to its skeleton
Would one imagine this a vessel?
Office to market, all kinds of places
Soldier to student, all kinds of faces
You see the eyes of an icon
You see the spine of a hustler
Looking through his own struggle
Fighting through his own ghetto
Piercing through the veil of time
Sounding through the peace of rhyme
And the irony of distance
And the flattery of chance
Systems failing
Dreams shattering
Spirits still glimmering yet
Structures still persevering yet
“Ba kwela, ba kwela, ba kwelaaaa!”
Not the swiftness of an underground commute
Not what you expect on the Lusaka commute
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