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Aid Pouch
It is Aids..
IT IS AIDS
It all started,
A little girl
Then came the wind’s swirl
Separate ways …she parted
Nothing to call her own
Mother and father, left her alone
At times, she would face unbearable torment
Then a feeling of relief for the moment
That her mother had died
From the hands of a mere shadow
A fight, she gave
For five years
Before I was born-
She chose never to become a slave
Valiant she was
For every drop of blood
Then came sores-
She will groan till justice advocates her plea
It all began when shed pale
A surge in of ailments none could tame
Like a defense broken down
The locals are set to wail
I wept on hearing this sad tale:
The girl named Kate!
Concerted efforts were made
But it was all too late
The locals of the town
On hearing the news
Reviled pity, and held to abuse
She was unborn by then,
But was regarded as outcast by men
From where she made her living;
EXPELLED;
Homely gestures from loved ones withheld
Her heart was broken
And her soul was grieving;
Dual lives were in danger,
Then came a midwife for a stranger
She was taken to bed
Before being laid on the mat:
At the onset of labor
She realized her life was turning to vapor
“I would deliver this baby before I drop for dead”
All the power within discharged for that cause
Shadow hath overcome the man;
Midwife drawn alert.
The baby echoing out her first cry
Never knowing that her mother had to die
Rose engaged all her noble art did apply
To ensure that the baby stood uninfected
The both were hidden…
To nurse the child of the “defiled”
Was forbidden…
The baby glowing fair and mild
Though rejected…
To survive became harder
The midwife inquired about her father-
From among the men who got Kate pregnant by rape
Almost murdered before her escape
Amid these reflections, she swore
That though she couldn’t continue anymore…
Mother-nature would repay double-fold
At the same time consume them with rage-
These she made at her old age
On the pouched basket she laid
The infant-and farewell she had bade
Beside the blessed memory
A book of memoirs she made…
I found a troubled infant
Along the street
I guessed she would be four…
She held this book to her paw
The neighbors had thought she was a feral child
While others said that she had gone mad!
Looking from afar
I knew I would meet
A frame mild but made sad
Molten pure- hardened for bad
After a painstaking rehabilitation
To silence alone she chose to abide…
Two years in my care
Not a word he had replied
After I read those memoirs,
I cried
“This is how her mother died:
A woman so brave
In sorrow, she gave
Her baby girl the life she never had
I would have been glad
If I had the chance to see my child
But there stood the one who would deprive
Me that opportunity of being alive”
This phrase I would repeat
As the day fades-
If there is anything that would have defeat
Sealed to it permanently
It is AIDS.
About the Author
SO Tech – Compact Individual Medical Aid Pouch