The Mystic Language

Rowing the waves vexed by the ailment
Her hands with rude oars torn
Her body a sack of bones, all broken within
The sun of her sunless forehead shall never renew
The lean emptiness of her smiles
Amorous delicacies craved by no eyes
Speechless secrecies and torn sentences
The mystic language of her sufferance
The wine that intoxicates my drunken pen

Background: Francine (38) from Jeppes Reef in South Africa is in the final stages of her life. Bed-ridden and weak, she is cared for by her two children. Her husband died of AIDS last year and her children will be orphaned in a matter of weeks. Photo Chris Leslie 2002.

Note: I stole some phrases from Donne.

© 2004-2002,  Dara O. Shayda