Struggle is in every breath we take
each day the sun breaks
It is the forgotten dream, a child buried
before birth, scattered in old wry smiles
A generation of hope incinerated.
Struggle is in the odour of strained bodies
scrounging at the derelict factories
trying to salvage a lost pension.
It weighs on resigned voices
dragging them down dry throats
tumbling down growling stomachs
letting out a heinous, soundless fart.
Struggle mirrors itself on the face
of a mother waiting at Road Port
for a husband estranged by despair.
Struggle is here, tired
Worn in the shoes of university masters graduates
Selling airtime by the street corner
Fighting the easy way to make a quick dollar.
Struggle in in the way we hold our breath
As if to decide, when we are asked where we are from.