The Cripple at Igbosere. by Ada Aham

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He lay on the dirt ground
rolling in it's filth
amidst the sea of legs
human feet, aura, and scents
he had legs, but they were no use
his face echoed his pain
his  fate to move himself, around, along
moving  always with the flow

I had looked out the window
his eyes pleaded for a naira or two
then he moved, always rolling along
on the ground, in the dirt
trampling on the footprints, of those before
 yet, never trampled on
by those who never saw him
they looked, starred but did not see him

Then he rolled over, rolling along
as the human traffic grew
Auto-cars honking noisily in the flow
His face etched with lines of times
Emotions of life lived on the streets
this hell hole, his home
Yet he continued to move, roll, and flow

I often wondered, what his story was
why he rolled to move
but like all those humans
I looked but never saw him
Eleven years after, his image still haunts
my mind's eye
For now I see him
but the oceans and seas separate us
As I wonder, how his life stretched
Did he get the kind of help he needed
Did his life become easier
We all looked and starred but never saw
him..
The cripple at Igbosere