They thought we would question the destiny Like they did when they encounter any suffering We were rejected among the throngs Yet we stay happily and hope to live long
We were the son of the street That have no asylum or place to live We were born like other peoples With no family to Summon or mingle
We have no intimate friend Than our shadow that stays and follows We are moving not to any directions But our doom is heading to its destination
They thought we are dowdy and cloudy Just because we are putting on rag They judge us with physical status Not with what we carry and rap to
They call us almajiri Because of the bowl we carry kakiri We have no option than to jekiri To find something to survive and mukiri
Who are we to blame Our destiny or parents that concoct us To the anguish and misery life That took not pity on our conditions
Though we have nothing to say Than to thank our parents for letting us to stay Inside the womb for nine consecutive moons They later gave birth to us just to look for hope
We might be roaming around the street We have the hope that we will make it to the city You might be viewing us as almajiri Yes we are, but our brain is magical
Allahumusta'aan ©2020
0 Comments