An unwanted
Deserted
Being
Raised
On the streets
By no one
For no one
A jagged phantom
Of a wizened childhood
An ejected nestling
Roaming
The veins
And arteries
Of cities and towns
With no obligation
And no consideration
A vagabond
Of wretched existence
A weed
A parallel life
Doting
Alongside
Contours of unconsciousness
Like an aborted shadow
With no voice
And no choice
An apoptotic blip
Programmed to deviate
So he wanders
All his life
Searching
Itching
For his lot
In all the wrong places
Without peace
And without ease
8 comments:
It is sad to see the street kids Posekyere. Did something happen to prompt you to write this? or is it something you have been thinking of for a while?
Is there any hope for them, I wonder?
Yes Denise. It is really sad.
The plight of the street kids has been on my mind for sometime now. What led me to write however was a lonely street kid I saw the other day standing in the heavy downpours in the street of Johannesburg begging. It was a sad spectacle.
This is the critical question.
The optimist in me says yes, there is hope even for the worst of them.
The reality may be dire but the whole phenomenon can be dealt with at by fixing one family at a time, one community at a time.
It cannot ignore this sad reality wherever we live.
Whenever I read pieces like this one, I wonder how long I should feel guilty on behalf of everybody who is not a street person. Then I ask: can I carry this burden of guilt with me throughout life?
You remind me of a poem I wrote on the same general theme: Edgar.
Yes, NY.
Whose responsibility is it anyway.
It is a huge challenge.
Even thinking about it is so hard.
I really wish I could do something in my own little way.
'Raised on the streets by no one for no one'... so sad and yet so true.
Not sure whether my observation is true or not. One thing for sure though is that what I have been seeing is heart-wrenching and depressing.
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