Wound
How many heartbreaking wounds,
Though it may not be visible on the outside.
one day the wound should be opened,
Otherwise, the pus all over the body will spread.
The “orphanage” is what the pus implies,
It silently torments my heart within.
Seeing the children with smiles in their eyes,
Inside, like ice, a lump begins to win.
A baby with tearful eyes, oh where are you?
Which of you left them in this place so cruelly?!
Innocent, pure eyes that shine so true,
How can you watch and not shed a droolly?
I cannot justify myself in your sight,
How helpless I am in this world so grim.
Tears cry in my chest, not ceasing their flight,
My heart feels the pain of the loss and dim.
People, do not blame me, do not condemn,
I am truly powerless, it’s plain to see.
Why should I lie? No matter how I stem,
I cannot give the warmth of family.
The second “elderly home” is also pain,
It silently torments my heart once more.
Seeing the old man call “my son” in vain,
Inside, like ice, a lump I can’t ignore.
The elderly, burdened by age, sigh and moan,
You cannot help but feel a deep despair.
Once cherished as children, now left alone,
Which of you abandoned them? Oh, do you care?
A single warm word can bring forth the ache,
Tears gather in the elders’ eyes, they glisten.
Defenseless, these old souls yearn for a break,
Longing for kindness, like children, they listen.
In a time where all is sold for a dime,
People's nerves fray, they’re losing their way.
Drowning in filth, in this chaotic climb,
No one strokes the heads of the lost in dismay.
Every year, walls crumble and fall apart,
How many souls are left without a home?
Filled to the brim, mouths and noses depart,
How many lives are locked, forced to roam?
When the pus is cut away, it’s plain to see,
I know society will tremble and shake.
When the wound begins to heal, will there be
True relief in knowing the heart can awake?
Copyright © Aibek Kalmaganbetov | Year Posted 2025
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