Thursday, 4 April 2013

Behind The Pyramid

The moon wept the night you were not born.
I kissed ten curled fingers as the stars
balled in tune to the river of
blood that stained my blankets.
The night you were not born.
The pyramids bowed to your cry for freedom as
tears streamed and sticks and stones and steel
bars rained down upon hunched shoulders –
silhouettes of the women who fought.
The night you were not born.
And, as I cradled you, sang sweet songs and
crossed my legs to stem the flow of
blood the doctors would not touch,
I heard the echoes of my screams – my fight –
the night you were not born.
The palms whispered at your hungered howl
as I placed you on my paltry breast and the
sand bloomed blushing red as it mopped
the blood the medics couldn’t heal.
The night you were not born.
Plucked from school to marry
(one less mouth to feed).
Pleased my womb could carry.
The night you were not born.
The moon wept, as blood and body
spent
and twenty child’s fingers and twenty child’s toes
ceased their curious wiggling – forever
intertwined.
The night you were not born.
  
© Carolyn Cornthwaite

Babies born to underage girls in Egypt cannot be registered and their mothers cannot receive medical attention, yet underage marriage remains rife.

Carolyn writes poetry sporadically or relentlessly (depending on the season) and is influenced by travel, former careers and people watching. She dreams of Booker Prizes and a life in France.http://about.me/carolyncornthwaite

4 comments:

  1. An excellent and very poignant poem, Carolyn. Well done.

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  3. I read the article on Saturday Carolyn - sad stuff.

    How quickly the hopes of women who took part in the 'Arab Spring' have lost their moment, their dream of freedom.

    Anna :o]

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  4. Thanks Luigi, I appreciate your feedback.
    I agree Anna - the article was very sad. I originally intended to try and cover the whole article in one poem but there are so many issues that it couldn't be done effectively.
    Carolyn

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