They changed the name
but hard to change the mind
the horror and the stigma seems mind set
even now
when drugs can cure completely in two years
no sign of a deformity in sight
the very word
indelibly ringing with the warning bells
embedded in our language as a curse
means that to be a “leper” is to be outcast
“Who did sin,
the person, or his parents?”
there’s the blame
some ghastly dirty own-fault must be causing the disease
this deeply-seated Bible attitude ensures a sense of
shame
as if this is a punishment for some disgraceful act
so that the sufferer is deserving to be shunned.
Finding a cure for prejudice like this may prove
more hard than curing leprosy itself.
World-wide, before there was a cure at all
it was the missionaries who offered love and care;
my father ran the Leper-Home in Mandalay,
and then, like Father Damien, contracted the disease.
When I retraced his steps some years ago
among his fellow patients, boys then, old men now
a famous Tamil poet Mister Arunchalem
blind, with a noble bearing, swathed in emerald green
ecites in singing tones a prayer-like poem of his own;
the Maestro, former military man, bore his disfigurement with upright poise
My family saw my illness as a blight
on family honour” he tells me
How will your sisters ever now be wed, with such a brother?”;
hese men had spent their lives there in the chronic ward -
My father, thankfully, was spared that fate, was cured.
Even today, once diagnosis is confirmed
comes with it dread and fear of being disowned;
the bacillus in the bloodstream can be quite subdued
the drugs completely cure the body, but
“Will anybody ever want to touch me now?”
is what the heart thinks :
Jessie, from Brazil, was crying, crying , and she said
“I thought my family won’t come near me after this;
by miracle, the doctor gave me a huge hug -
if I live two hundred years I never will forget that hug -
it reassured me I’m still human,
now I’m not afraid”.
We have been through a prejudice like this, with AIDS:
the fears, the slurs, the myths, the pain, the bravery of spirit
the need for touch, embraces, love
for understanding this is just an illness like another
“Hansen’s disease” redeeming the old name
no judgment, just compassion -
I celebrate the quest for dignity and respect
for those who have endured the worst and kept their pride;
I honour the quest for dignity and respect among the many still
who live with leprosy
as patients, who are confident of cure
as doctors, working to put an end to leprosy forever
trying to kill the stigma that still
clings ...
Elizabeth Shepherd - Hot Poets - May 6th 2014
but hard to change the mind
the horror and the stigma seems mind set
even now
when drugs can cure completely in two years
no sign of a deformity in sight
the very word
indelibly ringing with the warning bells
embedded in our language as a curse
means that to be a “leper” is to be outcast
“Who did sin,
the person, or his parents?”
there’s the blame
some ghastly dirty own-fault must be causing the disease
this deeply-seated Bible attitude ensures a sense of
shame
as if this is a punishment for some disgraceful act
so that the sufferer is deserving to be shunned.
Finding a cure for prejudice like this may prove
more hard than curing leprosy itself.
World-wide, before there was a cure at all
it was the missionaries who offered love and care;
my father ran the Leper-Home in Mandalay,
and then, like Father Damien, contracted the disease.
When I retraced his steps some years ago
among his fellow patients, boys then, old men now
a famous Tamil poet Mister Arunchalem
blind, with a noble bearing, swathed in emerald green
ecites in singing tones a prayer-like poem of his own;
the Maestro, former military man, bore his disfigurement with upright poise
My family saw my illness as a blight
on family honour” he tells me
How will your sisters ever now be wed, with such a brother?”;
hese men had spent their lives there in the chronic ward -
My father, thankfully, was spared that fate, was cured.
Even today, once diagnosis is confirmed
comes with it dread and fear of being disowned;
the bacillus in the bloodstream can be quite subdued
the drugs completely cure the body, but
“Will anybody ever want to touch me now?”
is what the heart thinks :
Jessie, from Brazil, was crying, crying , and she said
“I thought my family won’t come near me after this;
by miracle, the doctor gave me a huge hug -
if I live two hundred years I never will forget that hug -
it reassured me I’m still human,
now I’m not afraid”.
We have been through a prejudice like this, with AIDS:
the fears, the slurs, the myths, the pain, the bravery of spirit
the need for touch, embraces, love
for understanding this is just an illness like another
“Hansen’s disease” redeeming the old name
no judgment, just compassion -
I celebrate the quest for dignity and respect
for those who have endured the worst and kept their pride;
I honour the quest for dignity and respect among the many still
who live with leprosy
as patients, who are confident of cure
as doctors, working to put an end to leprosy forever
trying to kill the stigma that still
clings ...
Elizabeth Shepherd - Hot Poets - May 6th 2014
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