The Unborn
Yours was a precipitated birth.
Poor soul, birthed into the hands of death.
Yanked you were from your cosy shelter,
By hands that craved the touch of silver.
Then there you were, so frail and tiny,
Tender flame blown off in a hurry.
Your big black eyes, your alien features
Print into the mind eternal pictures
Of one so young denied a share
To live, grow and enjoy our sphere
By ungodly acts all born of fear.
Your hurting mother looks away.
She dares not look, she loathes this day.
She dries her tears, she is in pains,
Forever trapped in mental chains.
Your father too, not far away,
Waits in dismay, what can he say?
With no coins to back his claim,
The fatherhood would sure be lame.
Someone in white opens the door.
He’s done this deed ten times a score!
On the Devil’s mine a seasoned mind,
He had this task to him assigned.
He smiles and says “you’ll be okay,
Just take these drugs three times a day”.
His purse is full, you’ve joined the slew
Of wailing souls he’s yanked out too.
Where be your voice? Where be their shame?
Your life to them was but a game.
They’ve dealt you now this mortal blow,
Your dreams, your hopes no one will know.
Copyright © Karl Nkecha Safindah | Year Posted 2013
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment