© Musue N. HaddadHe is an African child
Taken across the oceans
This child’s face sometimes black
White, yellow, chocolate brown
Sun’s ray always bright
In those eyes; dazzling bright
This boy’s birth celebrated
African drums, great rhythm
Traditional sounds; reverberation
Birth of an African Hero
After a few more bongos
This child was flown into the snow
In the great white snow
A place where many migrate
To seek greener pastures
Love and relationship raided
Stress, survival became conquerors
Then love slowly withered, cheerless
Mommy stopped listening
“Mommy, Daddy,” this child called
Again and again, over again
His own childlike voice came back
Then, the face that once lighted
Gravely dampened, clouded
At four years, little child threw a fit
Kicked, screamed, called out louder
Still, Mommy and Daddy didn’t hear
Too busy, distant to their little boy
They cured little boy, not with hugs
Pressed down his tiny throat
Prescribed Anti Psychotic drugs
Volumes, infused in his body system
Now, he’s nine years old; controlled
Handsome, but eyes dull, dreary
Mind blank, bare and stultified
Creativity destroyed, glass-eyed
“Mommy, Mommy,” Daddy, Daddy”
Wordless cries ignored, always
Little boy sobbed as the drug travels
Down his tiny throat, he wriggles
Slithered through his esophagus
In his stomach, twirled, rock around
Drugs soften; then slowly liquefied
Passed on into blood, circulate
Bubbles into brain, body system
Hear the pounding, crushing sounds
Demise of potentials, dreams shattered
And this innocent boy sits alive
Yet stone dead to this world
Pasty from anti psychotic drugs
One more innocent life crudely robbed
Now a drug-ladened rag doll
Powerful smashing of love in the vein
Broken tears of shattering dreams
The deep roots of absurd pains
And the trails of tears remain
In the skies of the universe
This child’s path marked by darkness
He lingered his days under the sky
But not the great African skies
This boy’s dream, another shattered
And another love lost
True story of a boy once bright
Like every child under the sky
He was born with greatness; a genius
The truth we know
Way of living steals the geniuses
And the smiling, pure angelic face
Today, I sit in my birthplace
With silent tears falling on my heart
For this child under the clouds
And children who want to be heard
Hugged, loved; cuddle in our arms
Hear the sounds of their laughters
For they are little children; our children.
Author’s note:
This poem is based on a true story- the story of a boy born in Africa. His parent left the continent to seek “greener pastures” across the Oceans. In their search for “green pastures,” this has become the fate of their own child – the little boy. Copyright © Musue N. Haddad
