SUFFERING OLYMPICS

There is a kind of heroism in suffering,                

Medals are offered in some unknown place,

Rewarding the longest list of ordeals.

There seems to be a voice saying:

‘I am a big deal because I have endured so much.’

So nobody suffers in silence unless of course the suffering is a shameful one.

 

Malik, was slow to seek a hearing

She, barely a teenager, a labourer at a city estate

Waited for when her aunt Boss,

Whose treatment towards her was gross,

Had gone to work in her sleek Mercedes.

She just needed someone to listen to her for a minute. 

 

The maid next door all self-absorbed on the borrowed mirror,

Was quick at her dismissal telling her:

‘Malik, we are all in this city to make a living,

My cousin died, my mama got cancer, my aunt Boss hates my manners,

And her husband keeps winking at me. Have I died?’

And the suffering Olympics unfolded.

 

The man manning the gate absorbed at Malik’s looks

Was quick at his dismissal telling her:

‘Malik, we are in this city making a living,

I owe so many people money and promises, my wife at home just gave birth. Have I died?

You are so dumb not to give into your Uncle Boss, I see the way he looks at you.’

 And the suffering Olympics unfolded.

 

On the phone home, her friend answered half interested

She was quick at her dismissal telling her:

‘Malik, you are in the city living in a mansion, wearing the latest fashions,

Your Aunt and Uncle Boss like you. I am here walking from the river,

A pot on the head, a child on my back. Have I died?’

And the suffering Olympics unfolded.

 

Clearly, Malik came first on the list of suffering Olympics,

Her funeral was packed with all sorts of mourners,

Each asking Malik, the Ghost, why she didn’t share her problems

Instead of just taking her life away.

Deep within the mourners was a great loss,

Not of losing a friend in Malik

But of losing the medal of the suffering Olympics to Malik.

© October 2020

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