I know I am no man child. I move from home to home, from state to state in search for my daily bread. I lay my back on hard floors in the open and under the unkind fear that many lock themselves from at nights. I’ve become fear even to fear itself, because it has nothing to take from me.
I’ve become a brother to hunger whose language I understand mostly. I’ve become a plague to the affluent and elites for the fear of me carrying diseases. I’ve even become a piece of paper to most people who see me. But I know I have a mind, I know I’ve also got what they have, although I’m not polished, I can do what they also can do although I’ve got none to teach me, I just know.
Religion has made me mute – telling me to obey all authorities and that God delights in my state. Sometimes, I lose my mind and wish I was the rich man’s dog because it gets its daily bread without labor and is well treated than me. I sometimes wish I’m a pet. People have shut themselves in with their families, but who will count me as a member of their family?
ARÍYÀYỌ̀SÍ
