On AIDS in Africa

Dark wind howls across
The land pregnant with curses
What wind is this
That brings wayward dirges?

The tender fruit falls
On the ground, premature
And dark wind sweeps it into
The gaping wound of earth
Let branches wave in loneliness
Ancient boulders bear witness
The green land is gone
Scorched with sorrow
Cold mounds sprout
In fields fertile with bones
While renegade souls lie
In helpless quietude
The sorrowful drum
Moans no longer

So when will You deliver
Tormented spirits from
This stranded nightmare?

Bring back receding hope
You who will breathe
Life into the dry bones
Bathe the barren fields
With hallowed fertility
Make lonely branches sway
Heavy with tender fruit
Come at dawn and rebuke
The dark wind of plague
Make haste and reveal Yourself
To the grief-stricken hearts
Embedded in harrowing ebony
Let them be healed
At the touch of Your hidden hand.

Joseph Arimoso, S.J., Zimbabwe