May 15, 2020 0 By Arriet Nyatichi

Mama,I am hungry,
Says the four year old woman,
Now ragging on her mum,
In between sobs,
She wonders how long the food will take to cook,
Almost six hours down,
But her mum says that food is not yet ready.

From the look,
The three toddlers look deprived,
Deprived of nutrients,
In this case, Kwashiakor would have been better,
For the intestines can be traced.

She wonders how to broach the matter to them,
Would they comprehend?
How is she going to tell them,
That she is cooking stones?
Stones for food!

Deep down, her heart aches,
When she sees Bianca cry because of hunger,
She forces herself not to shed a tear,
Taking a mound-plate from the dusty floor,
She puts for them the soup of the stones.

It would have been better if the soup would have been enough,
To entice the worms in their stomachs,
Unfortunately, it wasn’t the case,
Stones for food!

She has been working,
Only for a _God Bless you_,
She tills someone’s land,
When she is done,
The person says in a brightened face,
*God will reward you for your kindness*,
Unsurprised, she leaves for her home,
Only to find her munchkins on the threshold,
Waiting for her,
Waiting for food.

What option does she have?
Other than instilling hopes in her sweetlings,
By cooking uncookable stones,
For dinner,
Deep down cosoling herself,
That one day, the stars will align in her favour
And do away with the dark future in her hands .

© Nyatichi Arriet