She sleeps on the cold steps of a church
The first day I saw her, she was asleep and lying on that cold hard floor. Oblivious of passerbys and the blast of horns of passing cars . The voices of screaming children playing and the barks of stray dogs without a home . Even the flies that petched on her body doing dances didnt wake her from her slumber. The crawling insects making a home within her toes didnt flutter her out of her sleep.
No she wasn’t dead . But sleeping. Her cloths were a combination of rags and dust and charcoal. Her face had a few smear to it. I had a problem telling if she was fair or dark of skin or mainly muticoloured . Her hair was a maze of mess. Tangled at all places . Brown and black. Her elbows and feets looked red and bruised. Her fingers gathered dark slimy dirts that dropped patches on the wall where she placed them close.
No one spared her a glance. The shops and kiosk there went about their daily business. It was as though she wasn’t there . Or was it that she had made that place her constant abode that over time…she was as invincible as the ground she lay on. That even a falling child would run and trip over and won’t even bother to say sorry. Or a speeding car would splash her water from the muddy earth and no one would cuss him or run after him.
And my utmost surprise was that..where she lay ..the foundation . was a church. I noticed the building was still standing. Newly touched. And folks be tripping in and out..thinly though and yet ..they pass and ignore a woman who sleeps on the steps of a church. ..a church that is supposed to be a home away from home. ..and people who are supposed to be their brother’s keepers and yet..no one bothered to come out down and wake her you and listen to her story .
She lay there as dirt and filth..and everyone who walked in as gold didnt bother to springle fairly dusts on her to make her glow. ..and I wonder. ..what kind of prayers do they want to offer to God. .when they couldn’t do just one commandment. .
“Love your neighbour as yourself “.
Today I passed again. ..through that not so narrow street, veering of the bend. And I saw her..dressed thesame and and there she laid ..Exactly where she normal remained. Dirty and forgotten at the steps of a church. .a place that is supposed to love her as their own. .
This life isn’t a bed full of roses..but we might need to give a helping hand..atleast that’s what the good book says.
I came down and walked towards her..
God might not come down from heaven to do the good work…that’s why he has us here…
“A helping hand would go a long way..it doesn’t matter how short it is..something is always better than nothing ‘..