...she may as well have left me in the desert
…she may as well have left me in the desert


Frightened toddler

When I first published this poem on Facebook, an African friend of mine told me, “Unfortunately, this is an everyday occurrence in Malawi.”

Many years ago, I had been moved to write this after reading Stephen Lungu’s ‘Out Of The Black Shadows’. This is a startling story about a man who was abandoned by his single mother when is was a toddler, picked up by is unwilling aunt who then made him sleep in the hen coop. He ran away, and out of his extreme anger, joined a murderous gang. He grew bitter towards anyone claiming to love God. With a loathsome spirit towards all folk who smiled, he entered a church clutching a carrier bag full of explosives. Just before he ignited his first bomb, he heard something up the front that captivated his heart. He ran to the front, collapsed in a heap, and while sobbing violently, he asked Jesus to come into his life and free him from an existence of mental torment.

Bill Wlison has a similar story, minus the bombs. He is an English guy who was also left abandoned in the high street. He now works tirelessly across the world, for the rejected and helpless, as God confirms his promise through him, that he truly is ‘a father to the fatherless.’  http://www.metroworldchild.co.uk/



I’m standing in the market place,
A tatty bag on my shoulder,
As the wind blows through my skin,
My arms are getting colder.
People seem preoccupied,
Dashing by so fast.
I look up at strange faces,
That frown as they walk past.

Where’s my mummy gone?
She’s so very late.
She told me not to move,
Just to stay and wait.
I’m looking up at adults,
Who seem as tall as trees,
Will someone stop and take me
Back to my mother please?

I’m scared to ask, I’m scared to cry,
But I need the toilet badly.
As my shoes fill up with urine,
Shoppers shake their heads sadly.
But no-one speaks to me,
I am someone else’s problem.
When kids are seen abandoned,
Grown ups like to snob them.

With cheeks as wet as my legs,
I sit down on cobbly ground.
Maybe I’ll be lucky
And be cared for when I’m found.
When Mum left me this morning,
It was a bright, sunny day,
Now traders are busily
Packing their wares away.

I can’t believe what I am seeing,
As a man goes to the bin,
And lifts the heavy lid,
Throwing fresh bread rolls in.
He’s watched me for hours.
And knows I haven’t eaten.
My spirit’s feeling crushed,
I’m defeated and beaten.

But praise God, my luck has changed!
Someone had compassion,
A lady saw me in the dark,
And fed me all her ration.
She took me to her house,
Bathed me in love and water,
And brought me up to live
Like her own special daughter.

Other girls just like me,
Who were rejected and alone,
Were taken in by her,
And given a loving home.
She taught me to forgive,
To leave the hurts behind,
She breathed life into my heart,
And hope into my mind.

She was given plenty funds,
To build a larger place,
A refuge for the broken,
A santuary of grace.
So I’m thankful for that market,
My memories are now great,
A frightened child has been rescued
From a world of scorn and hate.

Link: Sunday Wounds…