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