That baby in dirty, torn blankets,
Silent, ignorant to the dark, tortuous war.

Born to a terrified, on-the-verge-of-death woman,

while hateful eyes look on, regarding this birth as a nuisance, that of a stray mongrel,
wishing that mother, and now child, would  disappear,
perish like the perimeterous souls, day in, day out.

Below the stone-cold gazes, a warm heart infiltrates the dank, musty imprisonment.
All too aware of the perils of childbirth, hellish conditions,and total dismay cast forth in captivity, stands a woman with two squares of chocolate tucked in her pocket.

Bittersweet encouragement for when she or her own didn’t know if one more second in this concrete hell was possible.

Two squares of chocolate: a provision of hope, a reprieve from a cruel reality, knowledge of a world once known, but not forgotten.

A selfless woman, witnessing the terrified young mother fighting for her life and that of her just-born child, reaches into her pocket, unwraps the tiny square,
touches it to parched lips,  and reassures her that, this, too, shall pass.

That baby received a chance at life, living a life of gratitude for the  gift of hope, where none could be seen.