Why I Was Never Brain Dead At That Hour Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

This I thought was a misdiagnosis,
I should be sharing a brain alive
story. The world never spoke of one.
Yet it singled out my brain.

Why not tell the story of
exclusion, that leaves out
the state I'm in now, so
the world can know, I was
once brain alive. Lest you
forget, I was once brain alive
and forged into the future of
diagnoses. I, in my sound mind,
wrote endlessly on this wall,
speaking truths only you and I
can attest to when we hold a spoon,
with a hand that only yesterday,
wrote to a person who jilted us.

Truth is, you never learn to prick
this brain, that tells when you
are not brain dead. You live in it
unsure about asking all the time
why you behave is if you were brain
dead.

At the hour of reckoning you will
know that it was time to ask about
this all through life. For it is in
deeds that we measure how alive we
were, if at all we were brain alive.

Question is at the hour, that hour,
will you attest to have spoken loud,
into the ear of a brain dead person,
or one with a brain, but unsure if
it is alive or dead? Right now is,
the time to make the bet for later,
it comes at a price very high.
















AWh

I choose to speak for all. To tell
the




Why