A Little Boy

There was a boy

--A little boy--

With quite an eye

For things we'd miss

You and I



His hunger pains

He could allay

With cakes and tablets

Made of clay



On days that're bad, yes,

But not so much so

That to buy 'em for him

His mom had no dough



"What's in a name?"

--So they say--

I received mine

Never thought it over

Accepted it just fine



But when they booked

Most of his black town

For possession of humanity

--And resolve and dignity--

That they'd courageously shown



They asked him his name

With a touch of boredom

Until he told 'em

It's Freedom, Freedom.





Note added Nov. 10, 2012:

Dedicated to children in Haiti and US (on whose stories the poem is loosely based) and around the world, and to Howard Zinn.



For the story of the child asked his name, see Howard Zinn, A People's History Of The United States: 1492 to Present, Harper, 2005. For the food-related story, see e.g. Rory Carroll, Haiti: Mud cakes become staple diet as cost of food soars beyond a family's reach, Guardian (London), July 29, 2008; <http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2008/jul/29/food.internationalaidanddevelopment>; for more on background and context see Paul Farmer, Pathologies of Power: Health Human Rights and the New War on the Poor, University of California Press, 2004.