Thoughts of an African child

It is often said by my family
That the sun heralds a new beginning
A day in which I may wake and say,
All that was ill the day before is now well

It is dreadfully hard to believe
To look down at my bowl of some-thing,
To hear the groan of tin folding, warping, protesting,
To walk a dangerous path
And perform the deeds that need action
To milk my father’s cows,
To shepherd my father’s goats,
To protect my sisters from those who know nothing, nor care for, their dignity

And once my deeds performed,
I look upon the aged day and wonder:
How will tomorrow be well when today is so ill,
As so many before?

But here I sit,
A new morning shining with so much happiness
Sits before me and helps me to read
Read the beautifully-white paper
Of the letter in my hands

I knew not that these people lived,
Yet, neither was my belief at a well-day believable
I smiled down at the paper with its numerous letters
Hours had I poured over it before understanding

I went about my day,
So dreadful before, but now well-made
I kept my smile ‘til it was worn like my soles

The day was no longer dreadful,
It was well-made
Because I knew that somewhere in the World that I did not understand,
Someone cared about the way I wove my life

Every day since was well-made
As well-made as the uniform I now wear

Source: http://www.kesnet.co.za/Cultural/Writers%20Society