.Pd. is here – To: An African Mother, From: A malnourished African Child

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Born in the famine struck Africa
Living at the age of five
You told me mother,
That I was lucky to be alive.

When my friends were dying of hunger
And my health too began to crumble,
We could not afford to buy food and healthcare things,
Owing to our meagre earnings.

The day that I bid good-bye to life
Vivid memories of you I locked inside
My life conveyed a grave reality
Of numerous malnourishment deaths, indeed a pity!

Maybe God had written this fate for me,
Dying, rather than living in pain was how he had planned it to be.
I know you wished I could live a while longer
But I ask of you to find your feet and be stronger.

Mother, I know you didn’t have an alternative
You dug a shallow pit & let my body rest in peace.
No Gravestone, No mark to identify my tomb by
Not even a picture of me, to look at and cry.

Standing here at heavens gate
I see you, moving on in life ahead
I have of God just one complain,
Why such short life span did you paint?

Mother, now that I no longer exist
Don’t ever strike me off from your ‘I love…’ list!
Remember me as a glorious flower
Who happened to spread joy, though just for an hour.

.Pd. is here

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