Wednesday, August 3, 2016

The Boy with no name

Tears, African child, Child abuse

In the morning,
I awake
With high expectations
Of what the day would bring.
A race against time is at stake
A transit to my place of labor
I would undertake.
Along my path to the bus stop
I walked alone
It wasn't reality at all:
My shadow and the sun
Took to opposite sides…
On the spot where I would wave the bus
I pitched my frame;
A moving vehicle came to a halt.
I disappeared from the morning heat_
Squeezed in through the horde of commuters_
To slip into my seat
Nothing seemed to be moving
Though I had a fair share
Of the morning's fresh air
The surroundings sped past…
Snapped away from my stagnant spell,
When I realized the vehicle was moving fast
None compelled my sense's response:
The moving train of buildings;
Clouds on cue
In a scene blue hue
Along the side path, pedestrians
Otherwise, heads thrust out through windows
For exchange of relevant gestures:
A smile or frown;
Antics of a lovely town
Towards the bridge
I came across an exception…
The impression I caught glued on to my memory;
A surge in of details that gave reason to worry
Though we differed in distance,
At the moment,
It seemed the sight between each of us
Would lie at resonance
A boy meters away…
Unlike the others,
Carrying a bowl with sachet of water-
He had no word said;
Just stood there,
Nursing the wounds that seemed obvious
None dared care;
His face at loss of original character:
The expression of a sincere smile
…Unwinding back
Erect as if unmoved,
But Lost in a world filled with neglect;
A world he didn't choose:
From the bare of foot to the broken bowl in use
Nothing to take to
Save the torn off shirt
With bleached trousers covering under.
Nothing acknowledged of this child;
Perhaps his birthday…
The details on him, vivid by contrast_
Across the scene the bus sped past_
My eyes panned away;
Then I paused for wonder:
How the future of a boy
Is clouded up, not being seen at all
Courtesy: the cruelty of a human being:
In robbing off his pride and joy…
I emerged off the vehicle;
My tear drops bulged spherical
As the passing time stood still,
The brief encounter towered my emotions to the fill.
Though I reported for work,
My mind did the less of the assignments.
I resolved to conclude in a hurry,
To see the boy once again
In the bus:
Heading for the reverse direction
I looked out for the little boy-
The traffic lines piled across;
As the brakes aligned the bus
With the moving column_
The tension within me piled up,
Just as the traffic did in the bridge just on top
Any moment from now,
I would see the boy
With feeble hands thrust high
Suspending a broken bowl_
I was unsure whether he would be made whole;
Satisfied with saying goodbye…,
And retrieving a name
For a once-complicated frame
 It was not so...:
I beheld a little boy
Clenched by arm
To the palm of a man
Claiming official,
Dragged across the road;
As the passers-by watched…
He cried so hard,
And tried to escape free…
But the grip was so firm
That he took to shouting out for help
Only few took heed
At his dire moment of need_
We wheeled toward him slowly,
Till he struggled through, just behind my window:
Help me!
He said;
Like someone that would be dead for soon-
I froze up, when he shot a gaze at me.
The bus gained in momentum_
Few people musing for sympathy_
As he slip past
I awoke the next day
At the break of dawn:
I was troubled moving off
From where I laid
Reminded of the fact life goes on
After my trek took its turn
I pitched my frame;
Haunted by the sad memories
Of the boy without a name...

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