SOULCHILD from the archives of a #ChildRightActivist
#ChildActivist
Voices, I hear voices
Small, weak utterances crying for help
Pleading, groaning, yelping
Fixing pain in my mind
Pressing the feeling of someone in need
Poverty being its backbone
like a church mouse
incarcerated by pauperism
Nature saw me jaundiced
In my eyes was the curse
That I was dunderhead
and couldn’t go to school
My parents were denied life
By their pleasures of life
Mama was men’s night nurse,
the world new her generosity.
she easily accepted injections
in exchange for money
and never satisfied by papas single dose
Papa was so rich
His many wives were his wealth
Both tried to chase life
ignorant of life’s emergent wings
Now street is what I know
Sleeping in mucky places
Cold creeping down my veins
Hungry, tired, naked, discomfort
Lonely like a desert rat
Always sorrowful
Looking desperate
Joy being a nightmare
Questions forming in my mind
Why? Why? Why?
Why specifically me?
Sometimes I just need a hug
A word of comfort
Someone to call mummy, daddy
Huh. I miss such words
To have a smile cracking my mask
But everyday full of tragic tears
Wishing for a miracle to happen
Hopefully outstretching my hands
Entreating the passers-by
But getting in return,
spatting, ignorance,seizing in jails!
Not your business!
My existence is not your business?
Even if I smell that is mine
At least I bathe when am rained on
While stooping from pit to pit
looking for what could have been thrown out
by those who buy much to see them expire.
