#Children SARA THE SHOES
Am Sara the shoes,
My mistress I won't name. My colleagues are many, but I am the mistress favourite.
She wears me everyday, to the office, she steps on me,
Adding creases to my skin, and abruptly changes to Open Shoo, my colleague.
Today my mistress wore me to the big mall,
Where I admired the new shoes,
neatly arranged in glassy racks,
They cried out to me,
to be realised from the racks.
I cried back out to them, telling them to stay,
in there clean glassy racks, new and shiny.
As out here is not what it seems,
having freedom is not being free.
I walk and walk, town and back,
On dusty roads and muddy paths.
Inside bacterial laden washrooms.
In crowded buses where heavy boots,
steps repeatedly on me, and chewed gum get stuck on my sole.
Back to my mistress house, she plucks me off her feet,
With a thud to the floor, will she need me the following morning?
Am Sara the shoes, my mistress I won't name.
As the maid wipes dust and mud off my body,
She scratches my sides hard,
And beat me against the wall to remove dried mud.
With dirty water she wipes me,
With an old smelly rag.
Before leaving me out in the cold, lonely floor by the corridor.
To be worn the next day.
When I am rained on,
i am placed too close to the fire side,
making my body loose its shape,
i am Sara the shoes,
my mistress I won't name.
To the weddings and parties, she takes Stwinky
or Sharpy,
And that's when the jeering starts,
From Platty, to Rubby, to Kali and Miller.
Making faces at me, laughing at the cracks on my side.
Pointing at my tired sole, They laugh and at times I can't take it for long.
When I defend my make, they all attack me,
With soles and shoe-lace for whips,
I am Sara the shoe, my mistress I won't name.
When going to worship, She takes Moccasin instead,
Moca comes back refreshed.
With tales of how she made friends.
Of how her looks were complemented.
And how people were loving and kind.
And I wonder why I am never taken to worship too.
Though Platty has never been worn for the longest time.
She is the meanest of them all.
With her insides full of mattress dust and cobwebs.
She talks too much about the by gone days,
how she used to be the mistress favourite,
How they would visit five stars hotels, premium conferences and discos.
I am Sara the shoe, my mistress I won't name. That she was shown off to friends and relatives,
As they promised to buy her type,
because she looks unique and classy,
She would go on and on, until dawn or dusk.
That she remained strong all through,
because she was made so strong,
By people who value quality and style,
Unlike I Sara, who was made en-masse with recycled materials,
And I would cry and look at myself,
Wondering what i am made of.
Am I not made of whole leather from a crocodile skin?
Are leather really that cheap as she claims?
Then it dawned on me that I should be strong, Because tomorrow my mistress will need me again.
I, Sara the shoe, my mistress I won't name, Platty is jealous,
she is no-longer in fashion, i am classic, never out of fashion,
as she longs to see the outside world once more.
I see new developments everyday,
but how will I share all about it with them?
All the happenings around town?
Kala will say I made it all up,
he who has never gone outside since he was brought in,
he who only goes as far as the bathroom,
if a visitor from up country happens to come for sleep-overs.
He is the oldest, the roughest and toughest.
Made from tyres.
