Madowo

Madowo, eyes lined with wisdom's track,

Watches fat cats in their flashy shack.

"Money can't buy happiness," he sighs,

"But it can buy the medicine that keeps you alive."

He's seen too many dreams fall to disease,

Denied treatment, carried on the breeze.

Aching bodies, futures dimmed and frail,

Lost to a system where only the wealthy prevail.

Madowo knows laughter, love's warm embrace,

The simple joys that leave a gentle trace.

But health, the canvas for life's vibrant art,

Can be a luxury torn cruelly apart.

He holds his calloused hands up to the sun,

"True happiness," he whispers, "must be for everyone.

A world where health's not a privilege to claim,

But a birthright, a safety net, not a game."

So Madowo works, his back though bent with age,

To earn that shield, to turn misfortune's page.

For in this world, where cold reality bites,

Sometimes money buys comfort, pushes back the night.