Still he laid,
Smiling, knowing he would bring mankind a whole lot of joy.

His creator destined him to an applause filled life .

Created to find HIVs cure in the multitudes of failed human attempts.

Curled up, she laid.

Her tiny hands clasped together.

Lips making faint noises that flooded the mothers body with strength.

A little prayer warrior in the making.

Destined to end the vicious cycle of Stagnation in her family through prayers.

Raising his little feet, he kicked.

A pang of pain the mother felt.

*A troublesome one he will be*,
The mother thought within.

He smiled,

Knowing that with his footballing talent, he would put his mothers name in mouths across the world.

For they would call her womb blessed.

His little fist was.

Adorable facial features registering a firm look.

The time had come

God had answered the masses call for a saviour
And he was God's chosen Herald of hope to His people.

In their womb, they all laid

The instruments came.

The pills and the surgical tools of removal.

All meant to extinguish their weeks old existence.

The little ones fought back

With their little fingers,
Trying to push the instruments back from hurting them

Like a weaponless soldier tries to parry the thrust of a sword aimed at his heart.

*Mama, mama help me live*
Their voice shouted

*I have got something for the world*, they cried.


The world failed to care.
For they were concerned with more important things like deciding the most beautiful girl in the world.

As if God's fashioning hands stopped being perfect immediately after the girl was created.

The mother failed to listen.

Mama was more preoccupied with what people would say,

Still hurt by papa's denial of my existence,

She said she had the right to her body.
I guess she forgot I had the right to my own existence too.

The drugs won.
The surgeons tools conquered once again.

In their dying breadth,

The little ones asked
*Who are you to play God over my life?*

Beloved, abortion is not only an aberration against God but a crime against humanity for a life is always lost. If you are not ready to have kids, then stop trying to, for like murdered victims, the little ones cry out to their creator and woe betide thee when the Almighty unleashes His wrath upon the for the murder committed.

okonta kosi