Her Song
She is a young terrified girl.
A waning light in the dark
A true citizen of a wrong place;
A real burden to self
An epitome of depression
The embodiment of resentment.
Eyelids glued by the pus
That oozed, then clogged her vision;
The flies that feast on her sore body
Buzzing their ceaseless gratitude
Her breath comes…tarries…returns
Hope in both future and present,
Squashed and vanishing
She is deserted and quaking
She stares into the future
Laden with nothing
But impossible possibilities.
Amidst shame and morose
She remembers a song.
Not a song sung on a merry-go-round
But a song her mama sang for her
On days like this one.
A song meant to rekindle hope
When none’s left.
With the last energy
Still left in her frail spirit
She sings the song
Her mama sang for her.
With the scrawny legs
Dotted with scaly scars,
She gets up to limp on ahead
Like a blind man groping
Into a world of nothingness.
At first she sings with shyness.
The song her mama sang for her
Wakes up the courage in her chest.
She hums the song with passion.
Every note and every pitch and every rhythm
Blowing new breath into her dying lungs
Creating a new African girl.
A new life is born by a song
Sung by a mother
To her woe-stricken child.
She opens her eyes
To see new horizons.
She now sings for the tuxedoed
In big theatres and operas.
The world is too small for her name.
The new girl is a fat shadow of her former self.
When she sings,
The world sings along.
The future for her
Is now laden with gifts
As promised in the song
Her mama sang for her.
Copyright © Joseph Kimbugwe | Year Posted 2017
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