Kids: Africa in Childhood Poetry

Son of Long Street

9 Son of Long Street Born of a mother Born of a father Free and happy But only for a moment Brief Now I am alone In the midst of Long Street Who took me here, I don’t know Where they took me from, I don’t know I live by myself A father and mother to myself No shelter No clothes No food My water, sour tears of my eyes Hunger and thirsty my friends Greet me day and night But with harsh words I envy those little once of my age Crossing Long Street guided Cared for by their mothers When I am neglected by everyone who passes by Even the priests and pastors Educators and governors 10 I am so lonely No one cares The people The government They make fun of me I watch them as they pass by Cheering past Laughing hysterically past Making noises of joy They don’t care Educated they appear to be But their thinking lower than mine The never gone to school When they look at me They shake their heads Thinking I am the source of my own vexation Even when they talk justice They only talk about their own justice Their constitution reads not my name For in their domain I exist not Me Son of Long Street ...