Black Child

Dear black child
Could it be the harsh sun that has made your life hard as stone
Or the serpentine politicians that have robbed your parents of their sleeping mats
Maybe the nosey rain droplets that find the floor where you lay at night
For the roof has long retired with no entitlement
Mother’s pot never lost it’s appeal,with meat being a word associated only with festivity
You take pride in your sunday shoes
Its better to believe the holes are vents for your feet
To keep the stink of unwashed feet away
Even then, no one wore them better
Each stride with an eccentric elegance
With lose thread where buttons should have been
The now brown shirt further proves the point
That care was far too precious to lavish on mere clothing
Especially if noon day breeze against your belly helps to keep the hunger cramps at ease
With a stomach empty,the mind is full
Dreaming of castles on the moon,where the view is never obstructed
By looming shadows of common everyday needs
Needs father gathered scrap to afford
And mother made post at the road side with a bucket of bean cake paste
Which she gently scooped and dropped in hot oil
With a baby at the breast and a half naked child almost run down my moving vehicles.

Black child,
Is your reality same for others?
Or has it’s music travelled far and lost its dance before arriving at your door?
Your door where dancing is a stranger
And weeping kin
The only music was sang by hungry mosquitoes
Although I doubt they sing in joy
For the blood of the malnourished is barely worth the trouble
Your day and night share common resemblance
As hunger counts the unending hours in between
Of what fault of yours has life chosen to pay back with such a hand?
Too tired for anger,you find solace in contentment not hope
Hope is a strange word none around here has found meaning for
A curse is one more at home in this paths
They say its a gift too but for the condemned
Now that’s a familiar word
A fate uncertain
A future buried in sand

Black child
Find hope In the crowing cock at dawn
And the sun who’s heat keeps you dark skinned
In the droplets of rain from weeping clouds that acknowledge your significance
In the cold of night whose bite reminds you that you are alive
In the politicians that lie to cover up their sins because deep down they fear you
They fear you failure to die
Your ability to survive
And the light in your eyes that never cease to shine bright
Even in the darkest of night
And that day will come soon
Your voice will be heard
Like the sound of ten thousand marching feet
The feet of change
The feet of revolution.


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