Hellish fires spread
Quarreling stomachs asunder
Under another spooky day’s labour
Working for our supposed breadwinner;
At home is he seated, comfortably
Smoking from his rotten pipe;
At ease his soul certainly is.
I’m no child by genes of my siblings
I’m a child from past sweat of another
Deadman – hardly blameable
Living-man – malingering at home
Made I a slave in stonemines
Degrading stone to sand
Because father, at home, seated
Must eat chicken soup tonight.
My palms are paths of lava
My face is a trench of dried tears,
Dried by the scorching hate-some sun
Onto which painful tears forever sleep.
Fateful ills chose me of many
To be marked forever by injustice
At only ten.– Johnson Kitengejja
One thought on “MARKED BY FATE’S ILLS- Child Labor”
Pingback: Newborn Love - The Momma Clan