Waif Poem by nicholas boateng

These many times, these two but half decades
A life of a street child lived, and as a sway
Daybreak and every sunset, wandering always in tears
Having no one as thought, nothing to befriend; not even a doll

For since that night, that night that a world’s greatest hero scythed
And that winter, when a loving lass away retrieves
Every he and she denied
Seeing many others together while alone he grieves

These many times, none telling “you are good”
All that ever did so, did sham
In pain always and every night with sorrow did dine
A servant many said, despised in their eyes, like ham

These many times, weeping every sunset on a ‘pillowless bed’
Wondering always, if the Heavens existed
Nothing did the waif hear, but the sheepishness many altered
Failing in little but with many, scorned by all

But many did love, yet not felt and yet not shown
Thinking feeble and little, driven to the shadows
Threaded underfoot, never tossed by the wind

Filled with jittery, clothed in hard tongue
And shamed by mean with every adventure
This is the life of the motherless child