Seeing your corpse lying in a pool of blood.

I was scandalised.

With no parents shedding tears for you.

The back of your feet with cracks.

Your face looked ancient.

I wondered what could have killed you.

Hunger or cold?

Maybe you were pounced on because the streets were your home.

Covering that tiny body of yours with a punctured blanket.

Your dreams are now deferred.

I kept thinking maybe you could have been a doctor or a lawyer.

My mind is just playing a parent to this poor child.

No one is here to confirm the cause of your death.

Maybe they don’t care as much as I wanted to know.

Your death meant something to me.

You were still very young to die.

I don’t want to lie.

There are vultures out there who are ready all the time.

If your parents had been there, you could have been saved.

A death of an orphan is the death of someone’s child.