THE CRY OF A DESPAIRING WAIF

On the busy streets I stand, laying my hand to them for a penny,
They all seem to watch their distance, afeared of my reeking garments.
On the ground lies a coin, from a sister afeared of my bemired hands,
A gracious thank you my tongue utters, with the coin will get a donut.

On the busy streets I stand, shoveling my hands into the bin,
Little hope in my heart lies, for the night was long with an empty stomach.
Wrapped in a polythene is a molded bulger, with a smile I unmold my harvest,
A gracious thank you to the Almighty, for the stomach will calm for an hour.

On the busy streets I stand, with memories of my late Papa,
He called me prince coz of my beauty, which was lost the day he left me.
I aged six when AIDS took him, got no strength to battle the minacious uncle,
A gracious thank you to the Almighty, for He cares for His neglected lad.

On the busy street I stand, with my body shuddering under the kindling sun,
the night was full of grief and tensions, as I lied on the dampy floor.
They left me wounded and incapacitated, with my bread and beddingss they fled,
A gracious thank you to the Almighty, for I pulled through for a new day.