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TEARS OF A BROKEN CHILD – A POEM BY ESTHER SHEDRACH

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TEARS OF A BROKEN CHILD

I didn’t know stories could be written on the skin
with my blood as ink and whips as pen
Not until my aunt began writing on my body,
Each day, leaving everlasting marks for me to look at
And have a glance at the past

Gruesome nights keeps me awake,
The thought of home plaguing my forlorned heart,
laughters of my siblings echoing, haunting my ears.
Hagriding memories of mama hovering around me,
Hunger sits by my bedside, humming lullabies that do not lull.

The break of dawn calls for my break down
As rashes and patches made my body their abode,
My laughter sounds like an outcry.
The chirping birds are my soothing balm.

The river in my eyes are dried up,
my body smells of pains that the vultures would detest my carcass
My soul needs a rest beyond six feet
But before my rest please take me home

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