Unwept; Unsung Poem by Micheal Olaniyi

I quivered as a cold chill
ran through my liver,
my tongue was cleaved
to the rooftop of my mouth,
As I tangentially walked,
lest I glance at their wistful faces
But there comes this expected
Gabbling voices,
Babbling prayer recitations
And a tiny hand pulling me back
Seeking for a share of pittiance,
Beckoning my ghost closer
To a stern consciousness of hunger,
An hunger for food,
A food from toils,
Toils of her stress,
The stress to live,
Visualized in the face
Of a little stranger
Buried in my shadow earlier.

I stood as they multiplied,
Before serving these hungry souls
A bit of salt and pepper;
Dropping a stipend in their dirty pockets.
I carefully noticed:
The lamentation behind their prayers,
The tears behind their smile,
Weariness from enormous trial
And cruel neglect from passerby.

No time to rest
No where to lay their heads.
In the abyss of poverty
Beggars sinks still,
And there they silently die,
Without honour,
Unwept; unsung.