Paintwork Of Fate Poem by EZEKIEL HARUNA DANBAKI

I thought of my fate, then
When in some loving arms, a newborn, I lay
I thought of my mates at infancy
I thought of their fate, their destiny
How many, as I, survived these years?
How many, as I, count decades to their youth?
Many derailed the rungs of life in the noon of childhood
And I thank whatever force, that has drove me thus far
I think about the destiny of children the world over
Some bright, some painted in the worst colours
Some have ready food to eat, others wander with begging bowls
Submitting their hunger to the bludgeonings of chance
I think of all the blind children
How they walk in deep shadows, groping, feeling their way along the walls
I think of all the lame children
Their wish, when other children run and play
I think of kids in warring worlds
traumatized and orpharned by the slaves of worldly ambition
The sun sank away in the west
And the cold plunder the child who curls up in a street corner, shivering, clenching tight to his meagre earnings
Yet, he once had a mum like me and you
The earth spins busily and stops for no pressed man to get off
Or how many do you know that stops to help a fallen child?
He stalls school and hawks for school fee
Reaping barren bargains in ever rainy days
His head is bloody, bowed, but cannot cry aloud - it is the whimper of a dying child in a noisy world
But how great it is to think that
We did not live in vain
If We spent a minute out of our scarce supply
Offering our drink
Sharing our food
Helping the weak
But more humble it is to think that
Your love to them is their pride and glory
Your care for them is their names and identity - long forgotten
Offer your drink
Share your food
Help the weak
History writes kindness on pages of marble.