On the road to the airport
Heading towards my moment of glory
Leaving third world deficiencies
For greener pastures on yonder hills.
We who leave, are like Argives and Trojans
Battling for glory and armour
Blind towards the carnage and death
Wrecked around them.
What I see when the stamps before my eyes are removed
Are men sweating to make ends meet,
Migrant slaves struggling to eke out a living in a foreign land
Young men resigned to lives of hard labour for want of education
Women young and old working to put bread on their kitchen tables.
Yet here I am, insolent fool
The world seemingly at my beck and call,
Nothing to stop my march, or so I think.
May this thrilled heart be sobered up,
Not cut off in academia
From the brutal reality
Of the road to the airport.
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