Capital City <br /> <br />Two tree arch, <br />Bending, reaching to touch the other, <br />On the other side of the road. <br />Trees that stand alone, <br />On shack prone Industrial Spanish Town Road. <br />Trees that are never watered out of love, <br />Unless watered from above. <br />So children scamper with dirty pails, <br />Just to get a trickle to taste. <br /> <br />Children running, <br />Playing, enjoying what they can. <br />Many men hungry, <br />They stare, sitting on street corners thinking, <br />Of a better way. <br /> <br />One literate, reads and tells, <br />Of the Government’s plan for a brighter tomorrow. <br />While big bellied boys <br />Skip across the road. <br />He continues to read, <br />Of good news for the hopeful future. <br /> <br />Lower Kingston, <br />Destination I reach. <br />Matted haired men aimlessly walk <br />From street to street. <br />People move with one mind. <br />Streams of them flow <br />From side to side. <br /> <br />Handcarts provide the majority with transport. <br />Buildings decayed in need of new support. <br />Hardship shows on every face, <br />Money-grabbing hands all over the place. <br />Conspiring soul sit or stand. <br />The streets of Kingston this I see, <br />Capital City, <br />Of my beautiful land. <br />Still the sun shines over smog, strung streets, <br />A brighter tomorrow indeed. <br /> <br />Stoplights, <br />Planted everywhere. <br />Hinder, hopeful minds. <br />Still they take it <br />With feeble, toothless smiles. <br />People – not streets – shouting, cussing, dirty, stinking streets. <br />Sufferer’s delight; the Government’s plight. <br />Jamaica my land; Kingston the capital city stands. <br />Poverty stricken people, <br />Don’t understand. <br /> <br />Written by me 30 years ago.<br /><br />Elaine Oxamendi Vicet<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/capital-city/
