To all those who have once worked in Chatinkha nursery at the Department of Paediatrics of Queen Elizabeth Central Hospital.
When the child is born
The mother is born
It is born, she is born
Child is mother to mother.
Chatinkha was in a knot
a complicated ball of strangled
confusion and bungled hopes
beyond repair.
Who would unfasten it?
I pause for a reply!
A joke whispered
into small ears
putting a smile
on mongoloid faces.
You shook single palmar
creased hands.
you are humble
And you were about to distribute
slippers to those with
pronounced sandal gap
You left too soon.
In simple silence
you had a miracle to share.
Oh pity the poor tangled strangled
knot of chatinkha unfastened.
We thank God.
Widely spread was the news
Those with small chin gossiped
The low set ears heard
of your miracle
Overlapped fingers were waved in the hot air
Freedom had come.
Rocker bottomed feet walked to postnatal ward
spreading news to their mothers.
You broke the spell behind the tied knot.
Toiling the whole day in that equatorial belt,
giving hope to premature babies
In you they were seeking solence
You were striving for excellence
We are grateful for you
who worked for it
Your helping spirit
so rewarding
They benefited from your sweat,
produced in the war
to stop their fate
We decorate you
with a golden belt
Your service we appreciate
You deserve applause.
