Born in the afterlife

Alone in the grave the little girl lies still,isolated within and unable to breathe.

Her tender eyes shall never again see,

the long sharp edges of her father's whip.

Onto her grave her mother clings,

"My child is gone, when shall she return?"

Within his heart her father speaks,

"Taking her life was never my will."

Isolated now and never to be seen,

"We shall be her companions", the termites agree.

Little happy ghosts, spirits smiling with glee

the birth of her soul they have received.

Welcomed warmly in a world of bliss,

the dead child has been born anew.

Just as it was in her mother's womb,

The afterlife bore her in it's own special tube.

The labour, the bruise, the push and pulls,

now replaced by light and glow.

Her mother's soft and tender lips,

can't be found in this world of bliss.