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(25-02-1967 / Springs, South Africa)

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Difficult to understand

When the sorrows of this world
is sprayed like graffiti on the walls of your heart
and it screams out in silence
to every passer by

and I wonder do you really understand
what it means when somebody
violates a woman in anger,
takes a life
and aguish is cried out in hidden tears
and growing old means
not being able to take care of yourself
and the daily struggle of life
only means more difficulty
for those who are in despair

and how do we really sympathise with cancer
or do we understand a crippling
or life threatening disease
and do we cope when the reaper
is at our own door
and we loose the things
that really matters to us
and our world is out of loop

and natural disasters occur everywhere
and people without jobs, homes and cars
are at the norm of the day,
when loved ones are lost
in wars against enemies
and guns are put in the hands of mere children

and life is like a play that plays off in your head
and people loose their sanity
and a child cries for a lost parent
and far too many children are in foster care
and mothers sell their bodies and souls
to put bread on the table
and all of these things and events
are without any comprehension.

This world’s time is running out
and more and more people are utterly desperate,
are committing suicide
and I wonder if there is really a difference
between black and white
as our yearnings are the same
and when we are cut open we do bleed
or are we turning away our faces to the inside
and are giving everything a blind eye
as living in the outer world does hurt
and will anybody really understand?

Submitted: Friday, June 14, 2013
Edited: Friday, June 14, 2013


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Comments about this poem (A mother’s work is never done by Daleen Enslinstrydom )

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  • Gajanan Mishra (6/14/2013 5:08:00 AM)

    between black and white, there is everything, thanks for good write.
    I invite you to read my poems and comment.

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  • Don Nguyen (6/14/2013 5:02:00 AM)

    It is always difficult to comprehend how men the beautiful creation for love can commit such atrocities.
    Keep crying out and love, each one of us; then little by little, we will make a difference.
    Beautiful writing nevertheless.
    Thanks

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