why do you deface your pride
by such repulsive beliefs,
you allow children to weep
and wander on the merciless street,
where peril and turmoil awake,
at the resurrection of the moon,
eating the bread of homelessness

the cold wind murders their warmth,
discomfort visits them like a plague,
and hate is the next thing to take over,
Congo, what is this?
you blame your own children
for your misfortune and leave their
innocence to burn in the furnace of reality

In later years, they become prostitutes,
and when some of them rob your homes
you complain, you don’t understand,
those prostitutes, nonentities to society,
those armed robbers, wolves in the system,
are actually those children you drove
out years ago, when you had dilapidated homes
of living,
they are the poor victims of a bitter, loveless
life crammed down their throat by the
dark reality you fed them with.

everyday, by the murder of the sun,
the weep deeply, wondering why
mommy threw them out,
or why daddy sent them a way,
for no CORRECT reason,

then one day,
when your womb is dry
and barren as a desert,
you might want to rethink
the course or meander of this
grim belief.
                                      By Kakraba Afful