Beleaguered Children Poem by Ndina Kamaro Muofhe

Swollen egos lay siege to manipulative regimes.
Pulled down to drown by creations of the devil's parodies.

In the day,
They walk the streets under the sun of shame burning inches of their pride. When it appears from the crests of mountains,
it brew a hope that becomes a strength to run around the same circles of yesterday. Streets they tread on are concreted,
but to their souls they are sucking quicksands.
As they wrestle to grab pieces of crumbs fallen from Satan's tray,
they dig burrows that become lakes full of their own blood.

In the night,
They dream of stars shooting to the skies.
These broken dreams are crushed by a reality designed by arrogant species. When the night calms down,
it is the moon that rubs off pains from their swollen muscles and refresh their crippling souls.
Only to resuscitate their unconscious energies drained by designed civilisations of mortal men.
Going back to their sweet dreams on their thorny beds only to be disrupted by crowing cocks of the morning,
alarms steal peace of these sleepers.
And it becomes a competition about who beat the sunrise in style.

In summer,
They melt in the rains and get grilled in the wrath of the sun.
They become ghosts walking in a jungle so greener and fertile yet their bellies feasted from empty saucers.
Like sinking boats, their shelters are swept away by the rain's attitude. Little belongings they have drown in the deep of angry bellies of nature.

In winter,
On cold floors their off springs are born.
In the cold they shiver in torn garments of expensive fabrics bought by peanuts wages from their greedy captors.
This story is long but I am going to cut it short.
I want to save my pen from tears it cries for this beleaguered children.