A PRIZE - By Virginia Nzioka


Sharp pain,
And bursting in successions
The pain,
No sign or sigh of relief in sight
An embattling battle
Of a lone ranger
In-situ, endless pangs of pain

The salty sweat;
The haphazard lame kicks;
The apparent sight of exhaustion;
The uncoordinated, inherent solemn oaths:-
Never to expose herself…again;
In such a life-snatching battle.

Wait a minute!
Is that the “messiah”?
He who has taken ages?
To rescue her from death jabs?
But, wait!
Is this pain subsiding?
A cry?
Is that an ululation, a cry?
Is that a ‘hurray, bravo’ song?
The end of her tribulations?
Or the start of her emphatic smiles & joy?
At the innocent sight of her newborn son?

A bundle of joy,
Coming from the sharpest of pain,
Unfolding the brightest of jewels,
The earth has never excavated,
The gentlest of gentle,
A prize, that dwarfs the ‘Nobel Prize’
That is what he is,
My son to me.

- Written by: Virginia Nzioka

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