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Sunday, November 8, 2009

Plight of One

Wake up early morn
Everyday after you're born
To yet another day of toil
On the not so fertile soil
Till a land that's desolate
And get to school late
I am not that African child

Never played with toys
Never had a voice
My folks did their best
And I have to do the rest
Old beyond my years
Hopeful future not so near
I am not that African child

May have been cast a better lot
May have played with you as a tot
The years may have changed my view
But I never forget how you grew
I pray your future is brighter
And you've learned to be a fighter
I am this African child...

I think about that African child

*image from


Nana Yaw Asiedu said...

Oh, you write neat poetry too! Neat rhyming; bright, hopeful ending.

Shels said...

oh love it ...

Myne Whitman said...

Nice write-up, I think about that African child sometimes too.

You can check out my latest poem too.

Maxine said...

@NYA- MEDAASE! I usually like the abstract stuff than the structured poetry but every now and then I do it :)

@Shels- Thanks girl, how have you been?

@Myne- Offt o check your poem out!

Lady A said...

That's nice, very nice.

Maxine said...

@Lady A- Gracias amiga!

Kwegyirba said...

Aww this poem just breaks my heart. Well, the last stanza does give me some hope. Love it!

Maxine said...

@Kwegyirba- Glad I tugged at your heartstring! Where have you been hiding? You good?

Kwegyirba said...

I'm goody good Maxine. Very restless because I'm almost at the finish line. You know how it is. At this point you almost want to say, "Enough!"...but I'm trudging on like the tortoise!:-)

Anonymous said...

real nice!