Babatunde Idowu Ebenezer
The African Child
His voice for the hundredth time mumbled
'Spare some change for the poor boy'
His eyes twinking even in the crepsular light.
His discalceate feet hardly moving at all,
Yet he was moving.
Then came the voice again:
'God loves a cheerful giver'
The metal porringer in his metacarpus gleaming.
Hundreds of limbs actuating around his tiny
Yet none bothered to even halt a second.
His pleas though never ceased,
No reply came for them.
Then came the bellowings from above,
Accelerating paws now scurrying.
But the voice would not bulge.
Almost singing now:
'Mother is sick, father is no more'
A moving figure eased its stride,
Well manicured fingers went into a pocket.
Followed by the dinging of a coin in the bowl.
A ray flashed across the street,
He did smile.
Decaying fangs yet emmit but sparkled not.
Almost only four leggeds in the hood now.
And those even were not waiting,
Yet he remained.
Then the cascades!
Soon, his coal black curls dripped.
His shred soaked.
There was this look he wore,
But it was hard to say if he wascrying,
With all his body streaming.
Then he glide down a corner,
To find a dryer spot maybe,
And lay his tired body down fora while.
But only for just a while,
For the hustling must continue,
Else the tree will fall!
Then came racing through my hearts the
Where would he sleep tonight?
Who would worry if he did not go home?
What would his dinner be?
Why does he have to pass through all these?
What was his offence to mothernature?
And the answers came in one lump:
His only offence is the colour of his skin.
You have been close to him before,
What he was like then,
That he is like now.
Him and millions like him.
The African Child! ! !
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(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1908 - 1963)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(August 19, 1902 – May 19, 1971)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
(1207 - 1273)
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