From the first grey wakening
The meals are a mystery
When the scorch heats
My cheeks get rough and burn
I understand it all
I don't go to learn
Even my name is my hope to write
Unlike other kids,
I don't play games
I got no time
I have no address
I must always run from street to another
My feet have cracks
Alone we are left in dark corners of the city buildings.
The heavy rains bring harsh cold nights
I got no mother by my side
I spread my boxes and raggy like sheets on the muddy ground
And for a nap,
I hardly get any because of the noise footsteps of heels of the passersby and the cars.
Till the next grey wakening
But then, life continues.
Street Child
Ikiring Beatrice Ogwes
Poet's note: It's about life as a street child
(1)
Poem topics: alone, city, dark, hope, kids, life, mother, time, write, play, cold, street, bring, mystery, understand, noise, heavy, spread, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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