In Africa we got women who are pregnant but no husbands

at the door I hear them crying words caked in hope keep flying from their mouths from one end of the hall onto the walls end to end the crawl up the scales of the wall like flying vampires it’s like Dracula is paying us a visit for their hungry muffled cries keep growing like the new moon far off the horizon

White clothed human frames keep running around in relays yet the calendar says it’s not the Olympics but the mission statement reads they serve to treat. Trawlers dash by across the badly done rough flour filled with steel plates and dangling syringes dripping with medicine. The clock on the wall keeps ticking second after second as the life monitor computer graphs keep falling inch by inch and the look in that little face is eroded like top soil in the desert dune.

Straight across a rickety smoking engine jolts to a halt spilling more females deep in the labour pains. Their mouths spiting one theme help required. The waiting room is crowded beyond capacity and the resting beds are insufficient to hold that these women hope to get.

But life moves on like the mid day clouds clear the sky to let the rays of the sun run down and blaze the earth’s surface…………………….love is sweet but hurts

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