PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

To what end hath the hand of God made me,

  and what purpose doth the Great Designer have

    in touching the clay and forming one like me?

I am a clay pot destined to be broken,

  a leaf of a dying tree.



Why doth the tragedy of life require

  my presence upon the stage;

Could I have been left in peace, uncreated?

   not becoming a player on this books tragic page.



I looked out of my door today and saw all, the beginning and end; all that will happen to my children and myself, and more.

I also see many like myself living as I live, as leaves, tentative as they are, awaiting the inevitable, hoping but without hope, praying but to no avail, the day of detachment from life; there is no way to stop it and there is no one who will listen.

Everywhere I look there is dirt, wind and anonymous humanity living in its worst condition of poverty, starvation and misery. No food, no water, no sanitation, waiting for death.

Why have I been born, to exist but not exist, too experience this human drama of unparalleled tragedy of life as the living dead? I have bore my children with joy just to watch them suffer and die for the lack of food and water. To experience disease at a young age with no hope of cure, but still hope. Lord; the sorrow is much more than I can bear. I sit here day after day waiting for someone to come and tell me that it will be all right, that tomorrow will be better, but tomorrow never comes. It is the same tomorrow as it is today, and as it was yesterday; no food, no clean water, our lives continue until they will cease to continue; maybe then, peace.

Today I pray that a doctor will come, for my children are sick, but I know there is no doctor. I am so weak; I don’t know how long it will be before I succumb to the inevitable. My family is gone, my husband has run off and my children and I wait...dying; we are as leaves on a dying tree.

Once there was a home and a warm fire, cattle, milk and grain, children laughing, and a thriving village with wonderful people, friends to share life with, now there is none left alive but three small children and myself. Are we lucky to have survived the slaughter, or are we just as dead? Too starve to death this way? Where there was happiness now there is only sadness and hopelessness. Where are the provisions that have been promised?

All I can do is hold my children, love them, and pull them to my breast as a mother hen clutches her chicks, to protect them against the inevitable rush of the jackal.  I no longer have milk to give them and my love is not enough, it is not what they need now, I cannot help them. They need what I cannot give;………a bowl of rice and milk. Will the time after death be better than the time before? I look out of my doma and see a woman fall forward into the dirt. She does not move, another leaf dying and not one loved one there to attend the passing. I only see and pray for her soul, I only, one who will soon follow.

Disease is everywhere, it’s spreading from one hut to another. There are people wandering, sick, but there is no place to go. Outside of the camp there is only death. Here, maybe the world will hear the cry of hopelessness and send food. Where is the United Nations? They promised to come; more broken promises. There is another woman dying in front of my door as I watch, she reaches out a hand to grab the hem of the garment of the relief worker passing, he gives her a cursory glance and moves on, there is nothing he can do, another leaf dieing. I wish I could help, but I am to weak to assist her. I must save my strength to comfort my children. There is such an indignity about dying in the dry dirt alone with no one there who may care, the dry dust blowing up from your heavy breathing just before you pass. I wonder if I will be alone when my time comes? But we are not alone; He who cares about all is watching and waiting to receive us all. Today there are many leaves falling from the tree.  

The men who pick up the bodies will be here soon for, ….. my oldest son is dead. My husbands name will not go on. I weep for him but I have no more tears. I will follow soon….and, then who will care for my two little one’s? They must live….. Oh, God! They must live! Is there no one that can help?  Cannot the world see? So close now, Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom! Remember my children!



I am like a leaf of a dying tree,

The wind blows and I am no more.

I am like a footprint in the soft sand of time,

The wind blows and it is as if I were never here.

There is none to record these events,

I will not be remembered and

There is no one who cares.

                                                                                                                                                



                                                             C. Barnes 02-02-2005