Child of Sorrow

the child of sorrow speaks unclearly, he can hardly bring himself
to talk of his own difficulties, he laughs a lot
he’s always biting on his lower lip, his riches
are as meagre as my kindnesses

one time, I turned out the collar
of his shirt for him, he blamed himself
perhaps, happiness is in the back pocket of his pants
anyhow, the money from his father
is enough to send him to school

his bike makes a creaking noise
and like the child of sorrow is always crying, he doesn’t have many clothes
every night, he shares an old desk with his ma
she does her marking, the child of sorrow learns his lessons

the 20-watt globe is just bright enough, just bright enough
homework done,  the child of sorrow gets into his cot
he sleeps on a battered old sleeping mat
but the window is big enough, he can see the stars

the stars sparkle, never sleeping
great handfuls of them
just like toys in a dream—
has the child of sorrow had a glimpse of happiness then?

CHILD OF SORROW