I just saw a man die on the streets
With blood and broken glass and metal
Twisted from a sleek Senke bike
To an unrecognizable heap of twisted petals,
Black petals of Death, as it is used to strike.

Yes, I saw that man die on the streets,
While this morning he forehead-kissed his kids
And wife, promising to bring home a meal that night
And they watched him leave with hopeful eyelids,
Not knowing there’ll be dirges and tears over hunger that night.

I saw that man die on the streets,
After a mad driver rushing over pothole puddles
Couldn’t stop his truck in time, and rushed over his body
And though he’d rejected all passengers, my blood curdles,
For this single death already is such a tragedy.

I just saw a man die on the streets,
With blood, glass, metal, and mud
Littered in a gruesome Picasso on the ground,
And the tears flow down my cheeks thinking “Oh God!”
Orphans, widow, pain, more poverty born in one death on the ground.

(c) Nyonglema