Hospital Ward

I lie awake in bed and I can feel his presence I don’t remember his name nor his face But I can remember the mood – so tense. Back then I couldn’t understand – what was race? He looked different but he seemed the same, So then why did he seem so unique? I lie awake and tremble at my innocence He was just like me, he was a friend Yet I never understood I had never been taught That blacks were not the same as me They were ‘different’ They were ‘lesser’ I lie awake and look back at that day When I lay across the hospital ward from my friend I cant remember his name I cant remember his face But I do remember his fearful gaze I do remember his lonely stare I never understood then that he was different, Unlike me. I wondered why he never had visitors I had family and friends around me all the time But my mind was not with them I could not understand why my friend was all alone Surely he had friends and family too? I lie awake in bed now and look back to those days I understand now that he did have family, and probably many friends But they too had that isolated gaze, that fearful expression They probably weren’t allowed in to see their dying companion – Visitors hours varied from race to race. I lie awake and wonder why it was That we were both so innocent to the world around us I lay in that hospital bed not understanding how close I came to death But what perplexed me more then the drip attached to my veins Was why he seemed so similar but was treated so differently. I spent two days of my life with my new found friend Who I had become attached to through empathy. We had not spoken a word Yet I was willing to give him the world. I did not understand his plight Probably as much as he was ignorant of his own But I know his image will forever be etched in my memory The black boy whose eyes were deep caverns of innocence Who at the age of seven Already understood he was different Not why... But only because I lie awake in bed today and hope That he is still alive... And the world that I wished I could give him Was given to him by those who took it away from him - My race.Background to this poem: I was born in south africa and a month before immigrating to Australia ( i was 7 at the time ) i became very ill and went close to dying. I was in hospital for two weeks and we had to postpone our trip to australia. At one stage i was in a ward with a young native african about my age. Our mutual innocence gave us some connection - one which i now look back on with much sorrow. I feel hollowed by the fact that i couldnt help him...if only back then i understood maybe i could have given him some hope before he met the real world. Written March 8th, 2002 © on Mar 08 2002 02:35 AM PST   0 • 1