The Woman from the East - In Memory of Obalanga Mass Graves
POATV Reporter 
By: Asio Brenda Patricia
(In Memory of Obalanga Mass Graves)
When the cold of dawn begins to spread,
A childless mother sits and weeps by the roadside.
Her heart is heavy with sorrow, her soul crawling in pain.
Rebels had ravaged her village,
Scattering her home, leaving her with a lonely voice.
She is a mother—yet to no child of her identity.
Her babies were carried away in the war’s cruel blood-flood.
But she believed, oh, she believed!
And told every passerby at the sound of her mourning,
"I am a Mother!"
A traveler once told her that her babies had gone
To a land far beyond the sky for safety—safety.
But she answered him,
"Was that not my son who just passed by?
Oh look, there is my youngest daughter."
Mother of pain!
From the gloom of dawn to the first rays of hope,
Shivering with dew drops yet resilient with love for her child,
She stands and raises her weak voice with all the strength left in her:
"Tell my children to come back!
Say to them that I am proud,
They have conquered the calamities of this life!"
"Come home, my children," she cries with a broken heart.
"Let me give you belonging,
And we shall never be apart again."
But the roads remain empty,
And she is left to grieve, watching the village mass graves—
A mother’s sorrow
Even time cannot relieve.
In Memory of Obalanga Mass Graves
