Lambon Salifu Muhammeed
The Tale Of A littlun
I stared at the burden,
That the callous hands of this poor littlun gripped
And scolded nature for his birth.
Though a mile from him i was,
Yet his hairlike bones I could count without a miss
Truly, this poor little could walk through the eye of a needle without a push or pull
For a monster hunger has shrinked him to the size of a thread
His salty sweat, he drank to curb his thirst.
He would have been naked like Adam before the sip of the forbidden juice,
If not for the aid of that little shorts filled with a million patches
Painfully his total height I believe, stood below the knees of even the most shortest midget
It seems it matched the thumb of a one week old infant
He has been denied the ration of literacy to be a chauffeur of an old rusty cart
like many of the forsaken littluns on our streets
A future Kwame Nkrumah or Aristole sold to labour for little pesewas
Ooh my dear countrymen!
Will the horrors of child labour ever live our sight?
When will every child enjoy the joys of childhood?
Ready i'm like the revolutionist at Jones farm to tidy the mess of child labour
And if ready you are
Just lie a mountainous igneous on my David sling to ruin the Goliath of child labour!
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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