Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sally A Bayan Mar 2017
I saw...
a huge, open space, arrayed  with pink and
yellow roses and zinnias...there were benches
under trees that  stretched towards a lagoon,
for those gone weary, from their walks...

I saw...
a family...children were playing
on the green, lush carpet grass,
dressed in their bright-colored clothes
of red and yellow,  and blue jeans...
confidently hopping, and tumbling
wearing expensive rubber shoes...while
having bites of sandwiches, and sips of juices...
from a safe distance, seated on a bench, were
the overseers...the parents...as two nannies
kept close watch over the children.......

I saw...
a group of noisy children come in from the streets
running barefooted, feeling the cool, moist grass...
some refused to remove their rubber slippers,
their clothes were old and tattered...too excited,
they jumped.....lay on the grass without a care,
they shrieked, as they climbed and fell from slides,
obviously enjoying their visit....their shouts, their
laughter seemed contagious, the well-endowed
children, stopped their games and observed...

I saw...
how the parents summoned the nannies,
they gathered the children, and all their stuff
then marched towards a less peopled area,
and there, they let their children play....while
they sat on a nearby bench, pulled long sighs,
one after the other...i wondered...were they
exhausted?  or, pricked by their conscience?
were they sighs of relief.......because their
children were now distanced......."safe,"
......from the less fortunate ones?
:::::::::
whatever happened to  noblesse oblige?
are these just two foreign words,
with obsolete meanings?
::::::::::::::


Sally

Copyright March 9, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Do the heavens hear their cries?
How can they let these children slowly die?
I pray now spare them from agony
Sew their wings and set them free
For they are not slaves of poverty
But of souls unworthy of their sanity

A song for you my child
It is not your fault
You are not born to cry
A child is a child
Even if he sleeps in a bed of sweets
or in the busy streets
In your eyes pure innocence and love
In your hopes and dreams
you must fly like a dove
High as the angels above

Never will the sirens wake you
Never will the stones hurt you
Never will the cold bite you
For tonight you will not wake in fright
Rest in peace my child
The moon will swallow your woes
The stars will weave your dreams
And they will make you warm as you sleep



-Forgotten Angels, Margaret Austin Go
I dedicate this poem to all the homeless children. The abandoned and forgotten. The aborted children and the slaves of childtrafficking. Those children at war zones and children deprived of being a child. A blanket of love for all of you.

— The End —