By Noel Ihebuzor

Inert the child lies,

bathed in blood,

still and silent,

the silence of the ward

broken by the mother’s aching sobs

exhausted,

long labour had drained her,

almost turning her blood blue,

till eventually the blade

 brought relief and pain,

baby was curled, drained

 cord twisted and twined

around a narrow neck,

life slowly choked by the connection…