The Child at the Traffic Light

Muwado Ad by BadidiTech Holdings

The Child at the Traffic Light.

For every child whose home is a street corner and whose future waits at a red light.

At every red light he appears,
A shadow worn by dust and years;
Barefoot upon the blistered lane,
Where hope and hunger share one name.

His tiny hand taps tinted glass,
As polished cars roll slowly past;
He wears the sun upon his skin,
While cool air hums and stirs within.

The city pauses at the red,
Yet never sees the tears he sheds;
Its eyes are fixed on clocks and screens,
Not on the child between the beams.

He should be chasing kites in flight,
Or reading books by morning light;
He should be learning how to dream,
Not begging where the engines scream.

A coin drops down—a fleeting grace,
Then disappears without a trace;
For charity that comes and goes
Can never heal what poverty knows.

The traffic light turns amber bright,
A warning burning through the night;
How many futures fade away
While wealth and want share one highway?

Then green arrives. The engines roar.
The waiting ends. They move once more.
The avenue flows fast and free,
Yet nothing changes visibly.

The boy remains beside the road,
Still bent beneath a burdened load;
Still watching taillights disappear,
Like promises he’ll never hear.

And as the city rushes on,
Another day is nearly gone;
The light has changed for everyone—
Except the child
Still waiting for his turn.

Written by

Mercy Reagan

Follow

Did this story move you? Every gift goes directly to Mercy Reagan — writers on Muwado earn from reader appreciation, not algorithms. Even $1 makes a difference.

Gift Once Gift Monthly