Soldiers of the Street by Ebuka Wiz Godwin

These barracks don’t favor civilians

It’s for the un-blooded

We don’t remember our mortality off-hand

So we face guns and bombs empty handed

The armory is our heart

And the will to survive is the only arm

We are bred here, in these streets

Far from Eden, closer to reality

The reality of Adam’s sin

Toiling and sweating for every eat

And whatever the hardship, we never retreat

The sun here doesn’t favor people

We are men with shells

Thanks to the fire that hardens clay

Burning us hard, reminding us we live close to hell

Even our bellies no longer run on food

-something deeper is the fuel

Our register is incomplete; it lacks the word for ‘give-up’

Hard times have had the vocabulary torn short

It’s a dictionary published in times of war

Those times where life is the only spear

When you lose words that express fear

The khaki is on our souls, we never retire

No matter what becomes of this battle of class

Whether we cross, or remain in the barracks

We are ever the soldiers of the street.

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