We are members of the society and the society is we and we are the society. The children that are left alone in this world to either live with their relations, brothers, sisters or the other in a home that is far far away from home.

They called us orphans, yes; because we have nothing to offer. They sees use in the society but we are not recognised, not known because we are known as those born from the unknown.

Our heart is drawn majorly to the futility and pointlessness of life. Seeing every areas of our lives as stories carved from other peoples lies. We knows we have a future, sure. But the way things are going now, we doubt if we are still sure.  

  Left alone in a world of sobriety, taken from our fathers and our mothers place to a place where everything we gazed is hazed and no place. Locked up in the city of adversity, creating a gap, a protracted gap between our own good will. We have no choice or right of our own. eat this food ease you live like a dry bone.  The life of an orphan. No mother no father.

We know for sure the lines of slave trade. How mighty men of value where put in bondage. So many died of bug due to the unfair treatment given to them by those awkward strangers.                        No hope of escape. Many were killed with dagger while many died suffocated  with hunger. Their skin were peeled off, their legs and hands were cult off. No feelings of composure neither love.                                The pains where just too much. So when I looked at everything, the meaning of slave trade, I guess there is no big different between being a slave and an orphan.

 left alone in an unfamiliar world, no mother no father.       Taken to a home that is far away from home. A home where there is no love, where everything is just cock and corn, hatred, brutality, bothers, yet in the of our fathers brothers. And since we don’t have any choice,  we decided not to bother .

While their children are in the school studying, we are in the bush farming. While they are taking their children out for shopping, we are locked up at home hunger hopping. While they are eating we are watching them, not really watch, but waiting to wash the plate they use to eat. Calling us different sorts of names, bastard son of a thousand father. Will you go and wash the plate before I get you the pain, get into the rain ease I made you waste. The life of an orphan. No mother no father. What should we do? Help!

Please, let’s help the orphans. They need help.                

This poem is about: 
Our world
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