The Forsaken Cries

Under the harshful sun’s glare,
They wander the streets with hopeless stares.
With their legs bare and cursed their spirits frail,
While they tell a story like a winding wail.

Children of dust in cold hunger’s embrace,
Scavenging scraps for daily bread like pigs in race.
Their laughter is feigned, their dreams deferred,
In a world where their voices are barely heard.

Parents live to leave them in the cold
As more lives they bring and still fold
Into the streets where dreams die
And where hope is buried under the sky.

The education stands like a pendulum
A future erased, a life smoked in the lum.
While leaders sit on thrones of gold,
Blind to the tales the streets have told.

Who will rebuild their scattered fate
Before the time goes, before it is too great?
Who will see to their cries even if small,
And solve the cries of their silent call?

O Northern wind, carry their phone
Across shores of Niger to three arms zone.
For each and every child deserves to grow,
To learn, to love, to thrive and to know.

Do not let the streets be their eternal place,
Nor wanderer’s hopelessness their endless chase.
For in their eyes lies dreams unfulfilled.
Forsaken children but with hopeful lives to be filled.