Mum died when I was just six years old,
Her arms still warm but turning cold.
She left behind more than her name
A newborn brother, fragile, unnamed.
Two weeks old, he barely knew her face,
Yet in his cry, I felt her grace.
I wiped his tears with trembling hands,
A child myself, yet trying to stand.
They took us to the village, no lights, no sound,
Just broken dreams on dusty ground.
Dad was there, but hollowed and worn,
Carrying grief that couldn’t be mourned.
There was no money, no steady meal,
But pain too raw for time to heal.
We learned to smile through aching cheeks,
And hope in silence, week by week.
Still, I clung to Dad, though he looked away,
Lost in debts he couldn’t pay.
He tried, oh God, he tried so hard,
But life had stacked the deck, and barred.
Then 2021 came knocking loud,
With coughs and fear and funeral shrouds.
COVID stole him quiet and fast,
Just like Mum, he couldn’t last.
Now orphaned fully, with none to call,
No “Mum” or “Dad” to break my fall.
Just me and memories, thin and small,
And a baby brother too young to recall.
I grew up fast, with scars unseen,
Between scraped knees and shattered dreams.
But somehow in the dark I knew,
God had not forgotten too.
So here I stand, I still survive,
The orphaned heart that stayed alive.
And though I cry when no one sees,
I carry love through memories.
Because I am made of those I’ve lost,
And though they left, I bear the cost.
Yet in their absence, I have grown,
A soul built strong from broken stone.
Some nights I whispered to the skies,
Asking God, the when and why.
Sometimes no answers came, just stars and air,
Yet somehow, I felt He heard me there.
Now I walk, not whole, but true,
With pain behind and purpose renewed.
Because every loss carved space inside,
Therefore, courage, faith, and grace now show.
THE PAINFUL CRY OF A TEACHER by walking shadow poetry
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