Her name; Gloria,
Their names; Malaria.
Side by side they've spent these years,
Sometimes happy, other times sad-
Even at that, no one seems to see her fears.
Her name; Gloria,
Our names; Malaria.
We are called African disease,
Because here we operate with ease-
Their little effort to fight us always made someone rich.
Her name; Gloria,
Here comes malaria.
They are blind: no, they care less: no,
Ignorant? Yes, did help come? Yes-
Therefore we would not let go.
Her name; Gloria,
Their names; Malaria.
Had no one spilled something;
I don’t know what-
But something they know that is very bad.
Her name; Gloria,
Here comes also diarrhoea.
Same water her granny drank;
She lived a hundred and more-
Same water she drinks now, and was told her hygiene is poor.
Her name; Gloria,
Surrounded by this very water in her area,
Is to be surrounded by battalion on demons.
As they buzz in at night,
To feast to their delight.
Her name; Gloria,
She lives in Nigeria.
Today she has little or nothing to eat,
But from her dying flesh, malaria has a family to feed.
Reach out and save as many Gloria’s in your area.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem