Musings Of An Abused Woman's Child Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

Her voice rises in the night,
The woman nobody helps,
She cries out loud,
The hand of heaven does not hear her,
The murder of the innocent continues,
Unheeded, unending, and heard only by me.

I want to help her, but I am little.
My hands are little and so are my years.
My thoughts go out to the darkness.
The night gets dark as I look at the fire.
The voice tears into the dark night.
Scratching as she lies on the ground.
Where a leather strap called the strop.
Lands on her back endlessly.

The years multiplied as did the whacks,
They spread far and I did hear the words,
A woman who knows you naked
Can never respect you,
Beat her and she will know who you are.

The nation sings about the wife, who is alone
The one whose concubines are hidden,
That her husband will beat her,
Until the she has scabs instead of skin.

A young boy sings the song,
I can just beat a woman,
He looks at me and I look at him,
The sun shines on his disheveled face.
His disheveled mind speaks,
Just yesterday he was languishing in her
The woman's womb, that made him whole
Gave him the fists, he has learned are good
When you land them on a female body,
And fold them to knock her down,
When your own turn comes to be a boss,
Of the flesh that is female under you.
Makes me think of the lashes in the dark,
Coming down like lighting,
Striking a whole team ofsoccerplayers,
Who end up lying dead on the ground,
All over our this violent word of ours.