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THAT BOY
He sits by the junction
scraped knuckles, half a smile
a boy with more scars than years
each one a story no one asks to hear.
I saw the truth in his trembling vow
heard the break in his voice
when he said he’d left Kush behind
but all they saw was yesterday's face.
He carried hope in both hands
knocked on doors he once knew
but locks remember what hearts won't
and no one answered.
Now he sits in the same spot
half in prayer, half in pain
asking time for mercy
when people won’t even say his name.
Copyright ©
Hakim Fuhad Mansaray
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