With quivering, frail arms she lays out a palm
Her dying eyes scream out in agony for help
Her cracking lips lust for droplets of water
Shameless people walk by, the guilty ignoring
The lost innocence that plagues through her veins
Money is ripped out of her hands
Her wages stolen
Her hands empty while she shuffles home
Children cling to her for help, yet she is only a child herself
Beaten, calloused hands pound through disease-ridden corn meal
She chooses to go without food, for the sake of the others
The blood-driven groans echoing off the African Plain
Haunt her dreams throughout the night
The terrors come to a halt as the sun begins to rise
She leaves home and strolls to the street
Taking in the beauty as she walks
She has left her heart and soul back at the house
A new day has arrived
She is still here
She has won the battle of yesterday.