By Choolwe Lubaya

He could dine with fear
when time stared him in the eyes.
Like chords of a bass voice,
his heart would poke his
ribs with its feet:
Tapping about like fingers
of a social media fanatic on
the phone’s screen.
He could wrestle with his ego,
and always ended up in the dirt.

Not only when passion
pecked his inside did he feel
like a bird with wings fluttering
about the vast sky.
He had wishes romp about
his mind: to mask people’s
faces with a smile whose
brows wore picture frames
of complete torn ambitions.

Now, his friends are a staff
that keep him walking when
the failing legs of his crumble.
Still, he feels like he is a gift
wrapped in doubt.