The Capacity to write

Its gone they say, the capacity to write. 

I know but won’t say so

not so much that they know that I know. 

I wonder why I don’t want them to know, especially when I have said it all, to the police even. However, he makes them cry and then promise that they will not let anyone know that he has been cruel to them. 

They cry and then they smile when I ask them and I know that they are afraid but won’t say anything against him.


What should I do, I am really tired. 

He uses them, sends them away on holidays, takes them to movies,

He spends money like there is no tomorrow 

And children like it so much that they get pleased but it is like a disease.

I know not what I should write,

I know though that it is Depressing to sometimes

And the pain in the pit gets stronger and stronger

And that which is there will not diminish or not linger.


I see them sometimes and not too often anymore, 

I wonder how many other mothers this happens to 

And how many live without their children

Who grow up as the sons and daughters of villains.


Is it only in Australia that this happens,

Or is it all over the world now.

Is it only to a certain cultural background or 

Is it across cultural boundaries

For the world is a fairer place now

And what used to happen to one, and I mean Slavery,

Cannot happen to another this easily

Because of all the laws which were put into place in 1945

Post World War II or was it just history?

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