Almajiri

Misplaced kids

Like ants, spread out from decayed woods,
And pace their boulevards like hungry doods,
With empty bowels and salivating bowls,
Salutating each houses like novice drolls,
Wheedling occupants to gratify their grumbles.

At times you'll see them groak and mumble,
As they number and escort to your mouth grains
You take, their face lose attires and wear no fains.

Or they're like cattle scrounging succulent green,
From the faint crow till the sun chooses to lean.
Mooing out their hunger in pitiful choruslike.

To world their world they word all in ignoble attire.
They word the nobles to bless with which they admire,
Hem of their garment not lace of their boots.
Groaking, mumbling, monitoring and wishing coots
For if life could be cruel can't man make man man?