In my eyes

The sisters say
I was brought in by strangers,
wrapped in garbage papers
they say they found me by sewer lines
In one of Nairobi’s slum,
they say I was barely two months of age.

As I grew up,
I learnt I was different,
I learnt I was painfully different,
all night and all day
I lay in bed
unable to move or feel any part of it,

Mother superior told me
I was born schizophrenic
and just last month
I was diagnosed with leukaemia.
Four years of midnight tears,
four years of loneliness and bottled fears,

I dream of becoming a pilot,
of walking out of this children’s home,
only the clocks know my sorrow
for the sisters know my smile
when they come to shovel drugs
down my sore throat.

I wish to love
and feel being loved,
to touch
and feel something in return,
am warn out of crying,
of making “I believe” speeches to cold air,
wishing every day you will understand my despair.

Everyday I wish to sit upright,
to see other children play outside,
to feel the sun shine
on my dyeing will to leave.
Everyday I pray,
to be normal for a day.
™©Mwangi Njoroge.