Village boy Impressions

I wander through every mucky street,  Near where the choked Odaw cannot flow.  And mark in every face I meet,  Marks of weariness, marks of sorrow In the very sweat of every chap,  In every driver's cry for way,  In every voice: in every shack,  The decay of a nation holds sway. Have you read:  The Hustler in the City? How the street-sleepers cry,  Every trader's stall in choking spaces,  And the shirtless truck pushers' sigh,  Ring of the sleaze in high places.  But worse, in the perilous nights I see  How the youthful harlots and hustlers sleep  As the cargo of cursed slave-ships at sea  And chars with shame the conscience deep You may also like:  The Kayayei's Tale