"Hope"

I see:
dirt everywhere, 
cleanliness nowhere,
people limping,
people crying,
people dying.

I see:
many hungry children,
few parents,
a lack of plumbing,
a lack of food,
a lack of hope. 

I see
my village
from under the old,
shady, knotted tree.

I hear a new voice.

I see
a new face;
a face full
of sadness, compassion,
hope, clarity, dreams.

She comes over,
speaks haltingly,
yet confidently
in my language.
Says, “I am a nun.
I brought friends 
to help you
and your village.”

The people gather.
They cheer, cry, sing
because of her inspiring words.

She shines, bringing light
for us.

I smile.
Now, I can see.


I wrote this a full two years ago now (WOW!) and I just thought I'd post it. I ended up winning a Diocesan contest with it through my high school, although I never thought it was very good. Even know I'm reading it and thinking of ways I would change it. But I'll keep it the way it is. It's a memory from that time. 


I always imagined the narrator as one of those wizened African tribal men who are really only 40 or 50 years old but look like they're about 100. Most people imagine it's a child though. I just thought it was a or the leader of the village, and he'd seen so much suffering that he almost couldn't bear it anymore. And I imagined him sitting under that same old tree at the same time every day for years and years, just watching his people. A child would not have experienced that much suffering, and a very young child would scarcely be able to imagine a better life, let alone desire it. 


Please feel free to comment your feelings about it or whatever. I love hearing what people have to say about it :) 


Until next time....