On the Day of the African Child
They
knows no
shelter
but allleys
in the
dusty
streets of
Harare,
peripapetic,they
wander
from bin
to bin
in search
of
whatever
managed
to escape
the hand
in good
shape.
If only they
had a
choice
they would
choose a
home
All day
long they
hide
in the
condemnable
might of
drugs
liquor,
trying to
evade the
unfathomable
complexity
of the
Hararean
mazes
which
seems not
to have a
breakthrough
at all.
Fallen
victim to
dying
humanity
at a tender
age
they
knows no
comfort,
education
still
remains a
mystery.
Who talks
of good
food in
this
neighbourhood?
If only they
had a
choice
they would
choose to
be loved
When
spartan
becomes a
shadow,
to be
loved,to be
cared for
if only they
had a
choice
they would
choose a
home
but do
they have
a
definition
of
humanity
when
instead we
call them
names.
In our
faces they
cry,in our
ears they
sing,who
listens to
them
but
punctuate
them with
shame.
Life goes
on in the
streets but
what's the
going
If only they
had a
choice
they would
choose to
be you
so they
would
make a
difference,
Maybe i
better
close my
eyes and
pretend i
never saw
this
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