DETACHED

I saw a child
Waiting at a bus-stop
Waiting after school
Waiting in the woods.

Child, what are you
Waiting for?

I’m waiting for my mother
Waiting for my father
To come and pick me up
Take me home.

The child’s eyes
Were wide and trusting
Full of hopes and questions
And fears.

And the child said
With pleading eyes:
I really should not speak
To strangers.

The years have passed
And now when I pass by
I see a quiet adult standing there,
Smiling, detached, lonely.

And I wonder
Whatever happened to that child?

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.