To a Friend in Pain

Friend. I cannot imagine how life is with you.

It is the 1^st of May here. Dawned bright, but has dullened. A grey cloud cover has invaded the skies, and the sun just peeps from it, now and then. An interesting camouflage pattern, the cloud shadows are plotting on the ground. Unstable, interesting, changing. That is what life is. Reminded me of you.

I cannot imagine what life feels for you. I cannot. I would be a liar to intimate that I do.

A lion you were. King of the Jungle, king of the world. Proud and tall, heavy manned, shaggy and beautiful, you ruled the plains before you left. Leave you had to, to horn those skills, develop that mighty paw. A cub you were for a while, then you blossomed, and flowered, and conquered, just as was your right.

You are no tiger, though you may have tried. Your heart was still on the plains of Africa, homesick, now and again, and to home drawn, when you could.

You did come back, and met fate.

No.

I cannot imagine what you feel like.

Brought to such a pass. Hurt, hurting, looking at the plains and the wildebeests around you with little strength to mount the hunt. The flush green jungle, the fruitful mountains, the plains and expanse of the deserts of Africa hurt. You who was at home, king of the jungle are forced out to nurse your wounds. In the very prime of life, your fragility invades, shaking youth’s air of invulnerability.

You hurt friend, and I hurt with you.

I hurt to see you as you are.

Yet, I am thankful. Thankful that you hurt. Because if you were not to hurt at all, that would be only beyond the grave. And, selfish as I am, I wish you here, hurting, but with me. When I can, at least have the chance to know that I will, still, see you. Wake up in the morning, and know that you are, around.

The surgeons knife you have braved again. The pain you have felt, again. The promise of ‘better’ when you know you were perfect, before.

Yet you still live. You still are, and with the flame that continues, we say, better you will be.

There will come a time that indeed you will be better. That the pain and weakness will leak away, like it never was. And you will be all the more thankful, that you are, all the more appreciative, of mother Africa’s seething call to life.

I look to it, I look forward to that time.

And on this day of uncertain weather, the first of the month, I lift my soul to say, you, my friend, will still be, better.

Be well. Heal. We all, mother Africa too; we are with you as you heal. And pray, hope, you are better, soon.

Be well, friend.

GayUganda