Psalm Sunday, worship over we walk to station,
On way, I saw a boy by the side of the road.
Legs long skinny, torso displaying dramatically
bones – skeletal shell half in the making.
Early teens, glazed expression resigned,
strength lacking, no gasp-ask for help.
Appearances all, death fast tract, no -
no impediments here mercy save.
We worshippers, bellies filled
bidia, chicken, matamba.
Like passers others, walked by we
while lay there Kalolo, stare death glazed.
Kalolo, a metaphor Congo for?
We walk by, do not look we.
Effort, inconvenience to care,
pain embarrassment. Costly, to care.
Something meaningful done, overwhelming,
an alien culture, culture guides clueless ours too?
Lord, grace and peace minister to yours -
Kalolo. Your love this day may he know…
I beg you.