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To travel from a far, early '30s
(when the dictator waved at the village)
and to arrive in a damp wilderness
of another country, another world,
was to voyage beyond palm lines and sun charts.
Amongst charades of mistimed pregnancies
and ill-matched parents had been the comforts
and earth grace of goats and grandmother's arms.

The wisdom of breathing cowshed manure
to save a tender soul and soiled lungs
had helped inhale a faith in nature's ways.
And had served to sustain a body's need
from succumbing to taunting ravages:
succour to answer mysteries too often
clouded and confused in the minds of men
- it was always ever the men she thought.

Choice was always determined by others:
others' money and others' body part.
Such a crude way of determining worth.
Time later, in a cold English garden
cloistered with ivy and ghost memories,
she stood sprite and stoical, and noted
the incomprehension in neighbours' eyes.
And wondered why God destined her for this.

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