A Reinterpretation of Thomas Hardy's Poem to an Unborn Pauper Child......
Dela Eden
“Breathe not, hid Heart: cease silently, And though thy birth-hour beckons thee, Sleep the long sleep: The Doomsters heap Travails and teens around us here,
And Time-wraiths turn our songsingings to fear. ….”
Asante clutched her swollen stomach in grief as she watched him drive the whip down on her lover’s back. She felt it; every blow echoed throughout her body. She watched as his arms, now wrenched with sweat, brought down the forty-fifth lash, and then everything went black. She awoke to the dreadful sound of the crack of a whip and a woman howling, closing her eyes she envisioned the child growing in her womb, she listened to the steady rhythm of its heart and the deep breathing.
“It is almost time,” it said.
“Yes it is……….”
Again the horrific scene of her lover being lashed flashed before her eyes and she wept.
“Why do you weep woman?” the little voice held much affection.
“You must delay your coming,” she cried.
The voice sighed, “This thing you asked is far from possible, I must be born.”
“This life is not what I had planned for you”
“Ah, you speak the truth woman…it is what he has planned.”
“A life of misery?”
The question hung in the air. Seconds passed…then minutes, and then it replied,
“It cannot be avoided.”
It was the truth, its birth could not be avoided, but even as she acknowledged the truth her heart ached at the thought of what it would be born into. She had been born into this miserable life of slavery, often she was forced to share the master’s bed other times she became the object of the mistress’ frustration; the men were mere studs and the women were bred like horses; this was not the life she wanted for her child.
“Perhaps my birth will bring about a change.”
“A change? Seeing that we are one body and mind you know my thoughts you share my dreams now you will share my geheue”
At once her memories came flooding through its mind; every secret, every volatile act committed against her and
“Breathe not, hid Heart: cease silently, And though thy birth-hour beckons thee, Sleep the long sleep: The Doomsters heap Travails and teens around us here,
And Time-wraiths turn our songsingings to fear. ….”
Asante clutched her swollen stomach in grief as she watched him drive the whip down on her lover’s back. She felt it; every blow echoed throughout her body. She watched as his arms, now wrenched with sweat, brought down the forty-fifth lash, and then everything went black. She awoke to the dreadful sound of the crack of a whip and a woman howling, closing her eyes she envisioned the child growing in her womb, she listened to the steady rhythm of its heart and the deep breathing.
“It is almost time,” it said.
“Yes it is……….”
Again the horrific scene of her lover being lashed flashed before her eyes and she wept.
“Why do you weep woman?” the little voice held much affection.
“You must delay your coming,” she cried.
The voice sighed, “This thing you asked is far from possible, I must be born.”
“This life is not what I had planned for you”
“Ah, you speak the truth woman…it is what he has planned.”
“A life of misery?”
The question hung in the air. Seconds passed…then minutes, and then it replied,
“It cannot be avoided.”
It was the truth, its birth could not be avoided, but even as she acknowledged the truth her heart ached at the thought of what it would be born into. She had been born into this miserable life of slavery, often she was forced to share the master’s bed other times she became the object of the mistress’ frustration; the men were mere studs and the women were bred like horses; this was not the life she wanted for her child.
“Perhaps my birth will bring about a change.”
“A change? Seeing that we are one body and mind you know my thoughts you share my dreams now you will share my geheue”
At once her memories came flooding through its mind; every secret, every volatile act committed against her and