A Poem by Pia Horan-Gross
At dawn
I awake suddenly,
startled,
to the voice
of a million voiceless cries.
Children, hidden away
for secret exploitation.
Hands raised in violent threats,
pinning them down,
sealing their silent screams.
Young women, enticed and deceived.
Trapped, like butterflies
in a sticky spider’s web.
Their agonised lives
slowly draining away.
Numb parents, simple farmers
forced to grow illegal crops,
or else chased from their land.
Fleeing for their lives,
captives to hunger and destitution.
An old lady
rocking back and forth
staring without seeing,
waiting for her deceased husband
to return from work.
Why is he taking so long?
I am in a quandary
whether to go back to bed
for a little more sleep
or to get up and bring this issue to God.
I choose the latter, keeping an open heart.
17 August 2019