Till the ledger blossoms.

I ploughed each sunrise, blistering my face,

Filed falling stars at an unholy pace,

Let children’s laughter drift beyond my space,

Traded their weekends for a spreadsheet trace,

Stapled my sweat to ledgers crowned in grace,

Believed each hour would weave its silver lace,

Yet morning found my pockets an empty place.

They weighed my dawns with promises of gold,

Spun velvet vows no winter could turn cold,

Pinned shining medals on a common mold,

Whispered wealth in scripts I never told,

Cupped my hunger in a handshake’s hold,

Fed tomorrow on a platter labeled “bold,”

Then slammed the ledger, shouting the debt was—sold.

III

At noon their thunder inked a scar of night,

A hush of daggers sharpening their might,

“Ask not,” they hissed, “if you esteem your light,”

Claws of silence cleaving the kite of right,

My pulse became a drumbeat set for flight,

Yet every wing was weighted down with fright,

And justice shrank—a candle dwarfed by height.

I walked the corridor of closing door,

Footfalls clanged like shackles on the floor,

My name dissolved to salt inside their lore,

Dreams bobbed like driftwood on a barren shore,

Truth bled crimson through the timecard’s core,

Still I hammered hope against their iron ore,

Till sparks of courage struck their masks to roar.

Now I plant my grief beneath insurgent skies,

Water its roots with undelivered cries,

And hear the earth remember to be wise,

It churns the dust where broken promise lies,

My voice ignites, a furnace that unties,

Weekend winds gather—teaching hopes to rise,

Till wages blossom, freedom won—our prize.

©Bunguswa™

Bunguswa Writes.