TO MY HECTOR

TO MY HECTOR.

(the first letter).

Josephat A. Wangwe

How I miss you little one,
your screams have never left me,
tears you dropped are still wet on me,
it hurts but how can I forget you!!!,

You were cutely little I remember,
when that white brainless dog had a bite you,
like dried leaf you fall on the ground,
never knew you were no more going to stand.

Things have changed a lot lately,
many of your age are killing machines,
against brain-washers they’re moving,
may be they’re avenging your innocent death.

Just like before freedom is not free,
still bloodshed can only be used to unchain it,
the path to the land of peace is very long,
youths have opt to run there rather than walking.

You were nearly your 13th birthday,
insteady of birthday I recall your deathday,
with my hands I carried you away,
that was June on sixteenth day.

My lovely little Hector,
single bullet scattered your rights apart,
but still gun point is used as the lock of rights,
ponds are redly shallow due to skeletons below.

African child is you’re name now,
but they speak of it only once a year,
are we real going to talk of child’s rights once a year!!?,
well, I’ll tell you more in the next letter.

        Poet; Josephat A Wangwe.
        ©medart-2018 (Towards African child day).