This poem was inspired by a news story of a businessman who helped a poor woman recover her baby.
Because I was poor
I sold my baby girl
I had five kids to feed
I needed money to survive
I am sorry to be alive
A childless woman
Who wanted a child
Bought my baby
I need to be strong
Overlook her beauty
Find the courage to forget her
I sold my baby girl
I am nervous and awake all night
I am sad and I cannot
Face my five children
I am afraid of being human.
I can’t explain why I did this
Don’t try and defend me
I sold my baby
I was forced to
Sell my valuable jewel
I am sorry to be alive.
By Asma
Photo by Resolute Support Media
The horror in these few lines is something, as a reader, I will live with for a long time. To imagine, now, being this woman. To imagine her pain. It is so horrible I can’t even do it. Stacy
Asma — Your powerful poem gives voice to this poor mother’s pain and suffering and makes us understand and grieve for her decision that no mother should ever have to make. Powerful work! Nancy
Is this as much a horror when it happens here?
It is as true for first world adoptions as it is for this woman. Poor women are told it is better to give the child a chance in the world – so give it up! Not sold, but given – a “gift”. To who? Middle class people who can afford to give the child food, education , etc. You really want to give the child something? Give the mother the wherewithal to take care of her baby and keep mom and child together. The bond between mother and child is very strong. Bond between strange woman and baby is non-existent. Oh, you want a baby? Well, the baby wants his mama. Who gets priority? Yes, you do – you have the money.