The Little Girl

I tell you this tale.

The life of a little girl.

In sorrow,

And in humiliation.

An inspiration.

 

Her name.

Kari Munchai.

Three sisters.

One brother.

One mother yet no father, to hug.

No father to praise her, and watch her.

 

Her beauty and smiles,

A harsh contrast to the baked ground,

dry plants and withered goats.

The sun, this land’s king, beats down.

extracting all vigor and enthusiasm.

Wind still, and lifeless,

apart from those who live in this unsympathetic world.

Masses of gnats, seem to have no significance,

but to irritate.

Morning after morning.

Kari observes her mother bring home,

fresh, clear, quenching,

stagnant water.

Still.

The rains, dammed.

The harvest postponed.

The one possible deliverance,

A way toward food, clothing and a better life.

Ripped away.

 

Helpless little Kari, not a thing she can do,

yet her sparkle never fades.

Her hope never dies.

She knows no difference.

What a life, for such a young, pure heart.  

What a life, for such a beautiful little girl.

She’s helpless but carries no care.

Wrapped in her mother’s arms,

there’s comfort.

Security.

She knows no other way, but this.

As we sit, relaxed.

With a clear mind.

None of our uncertainties.

None of our wounds,

compare to hers.