Lost
I
At the marketplace
by sunrise
when the serenity of the dawn is ravished by unknown
voices…
When the Sun passes through the merry-go-round
beyond the horizon
when the turbulent wind is silenced,
and the voice of the cicadas
is no longer heard…
From a distance,
you would see them roaming in tattered old rags,
half-naked!
Sun-baked, and ruddy of countenance
wandering in twos and threes
countless!
You imagine what these are
when you see them
from afar
you think they are mad
you think they are vagabonds
you think these might be the lost sheep of the flock...
But as they come closer, and you see them begging...feeding on leftovers: you realise they are not...
These are innocent victims of an untold venture,
indicted on weightless balances,
stigmatized and left to wander the streets by those they should embrace comfort for PAGAN WITCHERY—a course they know not...
These are little children, innocent like all children
but who bear the cross of a crime they do not
commit…
At sunset,
when the sellers disperse
as the shadow of Night approaches,
the lives of these children become miserable
and aimless like sheep without a shepherd.
Survival in jail is more certain
than the dreams of these children
as mere thought of no hope of greener pastures
disheartens more than stony sleep in shrouded
sheds
and awakening to an existence
of lost identity…
Who will lift this curse?
Are they responsible for their plight?
Where will they go from here?
II
When Christopher's mother eloped with her lover,
his father, Peter, married a new wife named Martha
who thought of no one but herself
as she could not put to birth...
One day, Christopher got a high-grade fever, and
was in very bad shape as all herbs had failed
and no one thought to call a physician.
Blinded by grief and unforgiveness, his father remained wordless,
so Martha took the Poor Boy to her prophet
who declared Christopher a wizard:
"A child of sin who holds the key to Martha's womb."
Peter disowned his son at his wife's behest
and unfeeling chased him away from the house
without pity, without mercy
as the Poor Boy could not debunk their unfounded verdict...
Christopher then found a friend in Micah-a little hawker from the neighbourhood
whose abusive father battered his wife, and cared not for his children, for with another woman he had an affair.
No sooner, the two friends found other lads with kindred fate living underneath the bridge at the outskirts of town (for these mysteries happen everywhere),
and in twos and threes, they began to roam the streets,
unkempt and dessicated, fending for themselves
like cattle without a herdsman...
When I first saw these children at the marketplace:
peddling, begging and scavenging for daily bread, I could not help but wonder who is responsible for this calamity...
And for many days, though I had long gone, still, this memory rekindles in my heart.
And so, I set my hands to cast these lines that men might see the world in a grain of sand...
Copyright © Patrick Utitufon | Year Posted 2016
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