(A Poem)
by Sandi H.
Straw
and mud make up the floor
Where
mother and child now rested.
No
husband has she. The boy will learn to fight.
For
he has no name, only an ugly label.
He
grew up fast, he grew up hard and yet remained gentle.
Oh
so young and yet provisions he must help provide.
Off
to the mine to set a charge, it would put food on the table.
The
grass is always greener over the hill, so went the thought.
He
said he was of age as he enlisted to help the righteous cause.
A
sharp eye for a gun, he was made valuable.
Yet
in the end, it was futile for by the enemy, he was caught.
Unspeakable
horrors for a boy of such tender age.
Filth,
pain, hunger and that never relenting thirst.
They
made him and those with him act like beasts.
Scavenging
and clawing for life’s necessities, animals in a cage.
It
can change a man when life is doled out in rations, whips and scorn.
He
emerged from that hell hole still the age of a child
And
yet mature beyond his years.
So
much pain. So much anger. A boy beginning his journey as a man.
Taking
any job just to get by. Still running
from hurt. Eyes forlorn.
He
heard she was sick.
His
Mama in that dusty dirty town where he was born.
Go
to her, for she needs her boy. Her
son. Her only one.
Catch
the wind and ride hard. Must get there in time.
With
her last dying breath, she tells the secret of a long ago love.
A
name for him, her son. He must claim
what is rightfully his own.
No
time to mourn.
He
turns in the direction that will carry him home. A family.
He
isn’t just another hired hand as the truth is laid bare.
He
is their flesh and blood. But how will
she accept him?
“If
you were my son, I would tell you to be proud.”
“if
you were my son.” The bond is made.
He
now calls her “Mother.”
Still
there will be demons to fight.
Sometimes
late at night, the dreams come and cut into his slumber.
Only
now, he has a place. He belongs.
Now
no one can take away what has always belonged to him.
A
name, a home, a family,
LOVE.