Suppose you stop and say aloud,
‘Who murdered this child on the street?’
Alas, the little fingers point,
To the policeman on his beat.
From Ghana to Romania,
The situation is the same.
Of the shadows in the system,
The children with no name.
I ask you as you read this,
To spare a thought today.
Their young lives are on knife’s edge,
With no parents, there is no pay.
Who will give their woes a voice?
The officials pass the buck.
They look at them like blemishes,
Their towns, tarnished with muck.
But you and me see clearly,
We alone, have the proof.
Of the children with no name,
The cities without truth.
