Squalor -The Cry of a Needy Orphan

Under a roof thatch born, The flesh of my mama torn, I wish I was never born, As that day my mama was gone. A cup of water to me is a trophy, A tea-spoon full of honey, I am lucky. A teenager, my head bears cement bulky In the site as my sweat makes my tongue taste salty. Red spots body-over, a daily routine As mosquitoes make me their protein As I lay at night without a curtain And clothes I possess without button. My mates on Sundays I see wearing the tie, As at me they stare while passing by Like a dirty dog about to die. Begging, I notice not my cry. In anticipation, I await the day Where from church a man shall to me say “Your pain is over boy so come my way” Like the after storm sun-ray.