Allan Smith, Tafelsig
In response to “Five-year-old boy wounded in crossfire” and a sequel to my poem Broken by bullet (Plainsman, July 31).
Broken by bullet, restored by love and prayers
Thoughts of an uncle on behalf of his five-year-old cousin:
Do you still remember me?
The toddler, victim of a stray bullet,
Through the Grace of the Almighty,
I’ve pulled through my ordeal.
I’ve encountered so much pain,
no amount of words strung together shall ever depict
what my tiny body had to endure which ultimately
brought about superficial healing.
I’m not out of the woods as yet, nonetheless
through the Grace of the Almighty and your prayers,
and the many visitations I’ve received from family
and friends, many strangers too, my healing has begun.
The kind doctors and many caregivers, bless their souls, they’ve informed me
that they are amazed at my recuperation progress.
My will to live is in overdrive mode.
I cannot do the things I used to do, which is normally in
fast mode, however
I’m learning to pace myself, and yes, it’s frustrating,
but then again, I’m only too happy
to be given a second chance to do the things I used to do.
I wish to take this opportunity to thank all the people
affected by my ordeal indirectly or directly
for your respective contributions
towards my recovery.
To the person or persons responsible for my traumatic ordeal,
“why, why how many innocent children must still fall by the way-side as collateral or damaged goods in order to appease your cause?”
I humbly beseech of you, “stop this mayhem and
carnage, it’s killing us, big and small. Be the change our
community so desperately yearns and beckons for.”
My tiny heart is too small to be filled with hatred,
right now it circulates love throughout my entire body
and it resonates and touches those around me,
you too will be touched, if only you allow
your humanness to break free from your shackles of
What that bondage is, only you know,
what I do know, it can’t be right
as innocence can never be found wanting, least from a
Let it be known and let us never forget,
“every child is a precious jewel on loan
to this world by the
and no one has the right to deprive us from that
To my beloved parents thank you for being my parents.
To the good doctors and caregivers at Red Cross War Memorial Children’s Hospital, without your professionalism and work ethic, my ordeal could have been fatal.
To the emergency crew that adamantly refused to rush me to Red Cross in an unstable condition, thank you for being bold and insistent, that decision saved my life in that instant.
To the trauma unit doctors and staff at Lentegeur Day Care Clinic, first medical responders, you guys perform miracles under tremendous pressure, and are seldom thanked as you are always dressed in your theatre attire and out of sight, thank you.
To the good uncle that rushed me to the clinic free of
charge many, many “thank you’s” may the Almighty bless
To my Grandma, “Ma you were awesome, you did everything right under tremendous difficulties, don’t ever blame
yourself for my ordeal, it’s the boy-child with the gun’s fault.”
To my uncle writing my story on my behalf, you’ve
visualised my tragic ordeal to the reader in order to bring
change to a community that is slowly being engulfed with
an evil that is spreading like a cancer, but this infestation
can be eradicated.
Like a Phoenix, so shall I arise from my ordeal day by day,
one step at a time until I’m healed and the tragic incident a
mere memory, but never forgetting that there are also good
people in this world.
Thank you all so very, very must, I must rest now.