The Struggler's Cry Poem by MTHANDAZO SAMAL MKHWANANZI

A gun to my head, a fate unsure,
In minutes, I might meet my demise, for sure.
The Grimm Reaper's list, I've made the top,
A desperate soul, with a future that's stopped.

Life's moments, a series, they say,
But mine have been scarce, in a favorable way.
Sleep eludes me, taunted by struggle and strife,
Dreams of better days, a haunting, bittersweet life.

I envy the lavish, their scorn, I must bear,
A loser, they call me, but I'm a dreamer, with a heart that cares.
Opportunities, scarce, my chances, slim and low,
Oh Lord, hear my cry! I've suffered, and I won't let go.

I once envisioned flying high,
Like an eagle soaring, touching the open sky.
But now, I'm lost, and powerless, it's true,
The world's against me, stabbing, with no mercy anew.

Let me fade away, in my nothingness, I pray,
For in this darkness, I've lost my way.