They tore into her.
Her cousins, uncle and aunt.
They hurled abuse at her,
Day and night.
They overworked her.
All of them.
Made her wake up 4 am,
To clean, scrub and mop,
To cook, dust and shop,
Until midnight.
She worked and worked
Then slept in a box.
A wooden box.
Rough in build.
It tore at her skin
She bled on the wood.
She had her daily bread stale
With broth thin and sour as ale.
For 365 days,
Every year
For 15 years,
Starting from the day
Her parents passed away
When she was but a wee child of 5
The cycle continued
Until the day she turned 20.
That day the war started.
Their home was destroyed.
Her box too.
They were captured
By the enemy.
Spent nights in
A cold facility,
Where there were put to work
Day and night.
The others broke
Under intense labour
On empty bellies.
Not her.
She pushed on far
This was nothing to her.
Her blood and bones
Grew from sand and stones.
This was milk and honey.
She could only thrive
Shocking the enemy.
While the others withered.
Two years later, their saviours came,
But she was the only one left sane.
She cried over their remains,
Those of her aunt, uncle and cousins
And all those she had met on her journey.
She cried and cried.
Tears of sorrow on her face dried.
Then, the banks came looking.
They told her they had something
The one put in their trust
For her by her parents.
To be entrusted to her
When she was 20 and 2 years.
And so she lived and lived well.
That wee child of yesteryears
Had her own wee children
And then wee grandchildren
To whom she told her story
Again
And again
And again.
….
*The end*
…
No matter what you are going through at the moment or what you have been through, I want you to remember that you are where you are meant to be. Every step in your journey is preparing you for your destination.
Just remember to look for the light no matter how little and focus on it.
Have a wonderful weekend my lovelies.
❤Aweni
Aweni 