'One day you will head a home';
With this he is expected to be mind-tly gigantic from the womb.
But tell me of a farm not weeded yet gives bountiful yield?

Much attention to the female folk
but non to the Boy Child.

that cloud that died trying to be rain so as to reach earth.
they say the tortise is slow
but they forgot his shell
which is his body in ten.

That boy child laden with words only the wind can comprehend.
Stone heart
forged from lifeless words behind his lips,
shackled with visions visible to dark minds. 

The boy child
who must wear a shoe 
fitting or not
adapter he is.

That boy child
serving somewhere in Nnewi for years
thrown home in deodorant of shame
for miss madam couldn't have her way in him

that bud ripe of innocence at eight by A..u..n..t..y

those boys who followed ODUMEGWU
just to secure a better morrow for their mothers, their sisters.

The boy child
bodies under bridges
finding their path
wolfing from same calabash of faith
finding sleep amidst owls
cobwebs as bed sheet
stones as pillows
holding on hope
waiting on fate.

The boy child
the barrow pusher
that boy in prison for daring to be a Joseph in our age.

That one with hunchback
he fell from a slippery tree 
on a rainy day
for mother was hospitalized
and sisters were hungry.

Boy child
harboring pains in places the body can't feel
he cries, he's human.
He has fears
for even demons dread light.  

- Uchendu K Njionye

Photo Credit: Pencraft