Squatting listlessly in the dust in Africa’s searing sunshine, with no murmur,
The half alive starving aged young Mother
Wearily brushes persistent flies from the face of her baby daughter.
But she has gone, political incompetence killed her.
What anger I feel in my breast,
Surging up from the depths of myself
Like a mighty torrent of molten lead
Wanting to see those responsible, for a long time too, left unfed.
What kind of people are we to allow these deaths?
What kind of people are we giving succour to this political mess?
Donations from charities arrive so little so late;
Unacceptable for half humanity, starvation being their fate.