At The Foot Of The Jacaranda Tree

I often wonder
if she will be remembered
or whether her name will ever
come up in history
I wonder
if someone will inscribe it
on a commemorative plaque
I wonder
if they will build a statue
in her honour
for fighting for liberty

Did anyone see
the set of her mouth
or the braveness in her eyes
Did they see
the firmness in her step
as she trudged the endless miles
with the baby strapped firmly on her back

Did anyone hear her voice
in the tears she silently cried
as she shed the mattress on her head
then the pans whose weight had turned to lead
Did they see her fear
as she shed the water can
then the bundle of clothes under her arm
Did anyone see her run
blood pounding in her head

With each step
she hummed to calm the baby
strapped on her back
She felt him squirm
then stiffen
and she stopped to listen
She stopped
and took a few staggering steps
to the shade of the Jacaranda tree
and slowly unfastened her only child
as the pounding in her head drew her to her knees

No one would ever know her name
No one would hear her story
No one would know this heroine
who died at the foot of the old Jacaranda tree

(For the women caught in clashes in Mt. Elgon - Tuko Pamoja!)

PoP © 3 Sep 07