MY CHILDREN ADORE YOU


 

By Roland E. Williams

 

My children have come to visit you

Their names? Jean, Marie and petite Pierre

They do not know you

If they had, they might not have come

Although they’re filled with fear

Not for this, the unknown, but a past they escaped

My children have adored you

From afar, through visions formed

From words spoken

From few to many, They come

You are their opium. They must!

You are said to be worth adoring

To be worth their painstaking sweat,

Their tears and, yes, even their blood

Why, then, do you forsake them?

My children have come to grow with you

Their names? Juan and Maria

Pablito was left with his abuela

They have smiles on their faces

Which you mistake, too often, for grins

My sons seek to give you their sweat

And my daughters their bodies

For that is all you accept

From these, my humble children

Who have always adored you

Their smiles are now fading

They cry to return to a home they once had

For the one they have now seems most cruel. Un-hospitable

While they have toiled so for you

Why, then, do you despise them?

My children have come to ask for your help

Their names? John, Mary and Peter is still in Mom

Their faces are marked by hardship

Their eyes are shallow beads set in deep black cups

The infant opals they once were, long gone

Replaced by a vast knowledge

Of aches, where aches should never be

On parts of limbs that never ache on other beings

From life, not as you know it, but only as they do

No sweat left to extricate from their pores

For as many times as you desert them

They maintain renewed belief in you

That grew each day more and more

And that once knew tremendous proportions

Why, then, are you blind to them?

My children have come to play with you

Their names? I don’t believe they have given any

Nameless contradictions to what they have in mind

Jubilant smiles cover inner thoughts yet to unveil

Their rosy cheeks pushed to their limits

By life’s fullest pair of dentals, grinning

Hardship? They know of your brothers

Hunger? They know of your brother’s children

Your house is hence not thine, but theirs

Your sweat has lost its true value

Your mind its valor, your idiom ridiculed

Yet, you prefer asphyxiation from slavery

While you lose whatever precious little you had

To the master who once was and once more is

Why, then, my child, do you hold them high?

My children will one day not come

There will be no-one

Nay, no-one to comfort you

None to soothe the pain in your empty belly

None to show you your ways

For no more is there any to toil for you

Any to sweat for you,

To warm you chilling body

Why, then,  did you not love them back?

 

 

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s