The truth stings—
sharp like a scorpion in the dark,
quiet…
then sudden.
You don’t see it coming,
but you feel it—
burning through pride,
through dreams,
through everything they told you education would fix.
They said,
“Go to school.”
“Get your books.”
“Pass your exams.”
“Change your life.”
So you listened.
You sat in crowded classrooms
with broken desks and tired eyes,
writing futures in ink
on pages that couldn’t hold your hunger.
You defeated illiteracy—
yes, you did.
You learned to read the words,
to write the sentences,
to speak the language of opportunity.
But tell me this—
did opportunity ever learn your name?
Because poverty…
poverty didn’t graduate with you.
It didn’t wear a gown.
It didn’t clap when your name was called.
It didn’t take pictures with your family.
No—
poverty was outside.
Waiting.
Leaning against the same street corner
you used to walk past as a child,
smiling like it knew something you didn’t.
And when you came back—certificate in hand,
hope in your chest—
it stepped forward and said,
“I never left.”
The truth stings—
like a scorpion.
Because now you can read contracts
but can’t find work.
You can write essays
but can’t rewrite your situation.
You’ve got knowledge in your mind
but emptiness in your pocket.
And the streets—
the streets are still calling your name.
Not with dreams…
but with survival.
Because out here,
degrees don’t always feed you.
Skills don’t always protect you.
And effort…
effort is not always enough.
So what now?
Do you go back?
Do you give in?
Do you let the streets teach you
what the classroom couldn’t?
Or do you rise—
not just educated,
but aware?
Aware that education is a tool,
not a guarantee.
That knowledge is power—
but only when it meets opportunity.
The truth stings—
but maybe that pain is a message.
Not to break you—
but to wake you.
Because the story doesn’t end
at graduation.
That’s just the beginning
of a different kind of test.
And the streets…
The streets are still waiting.
By THEMBA T TWALA III
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