The Man Without a Name

There he goes again, running wild
Through the street like a hungry child
Wearing a cracked lip
Sailor without ship
His scenes have already been filed.

A homeless, no-one knows his name
No friend, foe or how he became
So funny to mutes
Always had salutes
Always dressed like he has an aim.

He would sleep under bridges, trees
Wake up and look like a Chinese
With a British tone
And none were his own
He lived his life with so much ease.

He would tell stories about trips
He took on the sea, the eclipse
He witnessed alone
The kites he had flown
The names on his back carved with whips.

He became the talk of our town
Almost a King without a crown
And has no real name
A wonderful shame
To think the throne would fit a clown.

Victor Oyedele