Song of a Street Urchin by Ohikhuare Isuku

Song of a Street Urchin

I

Woman of the marketplace!
Again I come before you
this grey dawn.
My feet are badly hurt,
my stomach is sad –
not consoled in weeks.

You hawker of Bean-cakes
I see you scurry in
with your wares,
I have not come
to beg food or alms.
There are issues of more importance
than hunger, than pestilence.

Let the stomach hold its peace!

Here I’ll sit by this rock
else my legs knead
as a slender string.
You mothers, come close,
you who curse your wayward sons
thus, ‘may you be as miserable
as a street urchin’.

Come, I have a song for you.

II

You old palm-wine taper
pack your old bicycle
under the mango tree
and move closer here.
Ah.. if you could please relax your glare
a little on me,
it will ease my troubles.
Last month you accused us
of robbing from your shed
your kegs of palm-wine,
thank God your first son
returned home dead drunk.

III

You policemen,
Enforcers of the law
I see your gazes are peering,
do you seek one amongst us?
They no longer tarry here,
save I, all have gone yonder
In search of love and warmth.

You constable,
I remember your face,
few nights ago,
you came with your boss
to trouble our sleep,
you accused Aile of stealing
the chief’s pregnant goat,
you hit him hard
on his head with your baton
until he became still,
then you dug for him
a shallow grave
and laid him to rest.

I thank you!

You gave him a proper burial.
Not many of us when dead
will have such luxury of a grave,
I thank you once again,
may good health be yours.
Yesterday, I wreathed
his grave with hibiscus,
he will sleep well.

But I heard the goat
returned to its shed
with two chubby kids,
is that true?

IV

You politician,
that lady in your Cadillac,
is she your wife?
She smokes Indian Hemp
and her lips look red like blood.
Oh..oh..she’s your concubine.
After we  stole the ballot box for you
you haven’t returned with our balance
and since you took Aisha away
from us with your car
she hasn’t returned,
have you used her head for ritual?
Ah, I heard you won the senatorial seat,
Aisha is known for her goodluck.

V

Women of the marketplace,
I appear before you this grey dawn
not to rob you of your wealth
or importune you for alms,
I have come to tell you a story
of what happened
in the dead of the night.

Last night, Eghe died.
Her corpse lay on the dung
a mile away
where we reposed,
she was young and innocent,
my sole companion,
she would be twelve in May.
A fat man came
in the first crow
raped her and left her
daused in her own blood..
And before she joined the wind,
she turned to me and smiled;
a smile engraved in pain,
and she said, ‘I’ll be free now.’
She said she saw the man
that raped her with my mother:
that woman that disowned me,
near the primary school
kissing, romancing….
I fear another street urchin
is on the way.