Illness Poem by priscah Mutswenje

Illness is a mean witch walking in the meadow
He could sneak through a bedroom window
Of a desperate peaceable window
Or trudge before landing with its poisonous paw
And strike in the safeguarded shadow

Illness is a lonely traveler
Painted with a folly and ferocious color
That codes the cruelty of an attacker
He is an unsafe illegal tall teller
Blindfolding and confusing the innocent saver

Illness is a wild wind that blows off savings
It drains the economic dream of darlings
Hitting below the belly and they suddenly sings
It visits even the royally insured kings
By the doors of the palace of young and ageing's

Illness steals a moment of joy
It savors the brilliance in a young boy
It mocks and enjoys every single moment it can annoy
Taming the favour that sends a girl to a toy
Or a mother and father‘s rare cloy

It cares not about the day or night
For that is opportune to enhance a brutal fight
It hides behind the beam of the light
And overwhelms human security however tight
Causing an unimaginable irresistible blight