If I were to explain his pain, I should be a man. “You don’t understand,” he said. The fear in his eyes told me I would have if he had let me see. I would have. In this part of town, we’ve been raised that boys don’t cry. They don’t ask why they are treated second handily. Or how they are expected to head families and be social leaders all the time. But I never cared for that. Hell! I would have encouraged him to tell me what was going on. And when I saw tears running free from his red eyes, I sat. Without any prompt he finally told me the truth and it was far from what I had expected. He mouthed those words and I made them in my head not hearing any word he said, I knew that this was not new. And to find out I was right threw me back.
“Are you going to help me get through this?”, his voice trapped me to agree. Who could ignore a broken soul. So I held his hands and they were cold. His skin was pale and it scared me a little. It scared me to know a friend I have had for so long might be gone. “I’m not going to cry”, I said holding back tears. “You will be fine,” the words came out and yes with tears. And with his eyes heavy with tears, he managed a smile. Those were the events of yesterday.
Today the smell of medicine lingered on my clothes. It had been a while coming back here. The sound of the machines accompanied by crying babies, affirmed my presence at this place. “You can come in now,” the nurse said to me. I stood up and my legs were heavy. I could not proceed, I thought but I had to. My friend was in that room, I had to see him. I had to apologize for not being there for him. I had to. While I was outside the room, I heard cries from inside. I peeped in and saw people gathered around him. My heart stopped awhile. Then the door opened and some distraught man welcomed me in. “He has been waiting for you,” he said, taking my hand and helping me in. And there he was.
Let me tell you a story about the womb man…
These stretch marks show my elasticity of how far I could go to accommodate life.
They are no sign of ugliness, just sheer beauty.
These hands create, they make, the mold and hold.
They are strong and gentle and they can wipe away tears.
They stop the wrong words to escape you!
They take yours to assure you that you are alive.
I am She whose voice is melody and a remedy to a wounded heart.
She whose presence is the essence of humility.
She whose breasts sustains life.
Her waist carries her body, carries babies, carries goods, carries.
Her eyes see the soul, see the wonder, see.
Her feet walk the paths not taken, walk through pains, walk through talks of inferiority, walks.
And she thinks not of herself nor succumb to being unknown.
She strives for livelihood and she becomes the moon and sun
All in one.
She becomes life.
The womb man.
Is it really love when we overlook the flaws and embrace them blindly?
Is it really life when we have never felt the pain of giving birth?
Is it really death when we have not lost time in comatose then wake to die?
Is it really a home when no words are said nor tears shed in laughter?
Is it really a promise when we find ways to break it?
Is it really a secret when we know a lot of people already know it?
Is it really poetry when it doesn’t go into the hearts of the longing, the minds of the searching, the ears of the heartbeat listeners or the eyes of the wondering?
I have realized that failure is never the end but preparation for success. Its never late till you sleep forever, so we should never stop believing in ourselves, the possibility of change we can do and the talents we have to nurture for them to work best for us. And this quote shows the ability of God:
“We should never underestimate what God can do if we just allow him to work.”