Feet stretched near the grate,
covered in a chequered kiln, she sits.
The splintered wood and soaked coal,
no source of comfort,
for her tired, numb veins.
The struggle to keep warm
her fading copa, the life brew.
Rubbing toes for friction heat,
her last dice in the game.
Fortnights just a few,
till her death celebration,
with spirits far and near.
Seems day before - a drunken bliss,
they called out her name,
the new born; the toast
of the town for a week.
Resolutions after baptism,
all forgotten in earthly haste.
Her life's spring bloom,
left deflowered, bleeding;
raped by the Market Man,
the dark days, Recession!
Tears, the cross she bore,
till her grave in December hail.
Mid-life, her lonely days;
at a far-east sweatshop.
Breaking back for cents,
wail unheard, the loud Kalashnikovs;
and louder applause as the world hailed,
the Son from the Cotton Fields,
with Peace Prize and a crown.
Alas! They all wear tuxedos,
shields from the modern slave.
She coughed into the final days,
dengue and swine-flu scars,
and an arthritic ego from another life.
Her high-school love, prom date,
the men in her life,
the flirts and the romance,
these endless flashes haunting,
an unhappy life hanging,
as the countdown begins.
For Santa Claus,
and a big bag of goodies.
For the Messiah, the season of love,
and the birth of a girl,
another virgin, another year.
(The year 2009 is coming to an end. Here, the year is pictured as an old lady, sitting numb near her fireplace, awaiting death, which we all will celebrate on December 31.
Looking back into the 365 days, her life, the predominant emotion is sadness and struggle, which started with the Recession.
Her cries and troubles were largely unheard because the world was focused, among other things, on the 'war on terrorism' and of course the celebrated ascend into office of US President Barrack Obama.
Hope remain, with her death and the birth of a new year, 'another virgin'.)