THE SONG OF A STREET CHILD

In this cold hard streets of strife,
Every day I strive to survive,
With no one to look after me,
Only me for myself.

This is not a life I chose for myself,
Its not the life I ever envisioned in my future,
I don’t even know if I am capable of  owning a future,
Something to call my own.

From hand to mouth,
My daily bread fresh from the pit,
Baked bitter better in heap of litter,
Even when it rotten smells it still glister,
Tasty enough to drive hunger away,
As hopes for another better day set’s sail.

When the sky gets angry and cry rain,
There is nowhere to run to,
Nowhere to seek shelter from.
But into the warm embrace of the streets,
I run to with all the cold enveloping me in hug,
Truly we are made for each other.

Some nights it gets worse,
The police hard on my tail,
With whips to instill what they term as justice,
For a crime I know nothing about,
I am only a victim of circumstances.

Days are exciting and fierce,
Exciting for the faces to see daily,
But incessive for people walking by past me,
With a glowing disgusting smug on their faces,
For the piece of dirt that I am for them to spare a second glance.

Everyday closer to the maker I inch,
But who doesn’t?
It’s not easy having to extant in these clandestine streets,
That breed’s both danger and pleasure in equal measure,
But do I really have a choice?
For survival is better than living that’s why I strive to survive,
Hoping one day to make a life for myself.

Prince Diaries