Prisoner

I am a prisoner of Congo
And I cannot escape!

"Stone walls do not a prison make."
Was truly writ for me,
For I am held by human need, and not by stone;
I am not mortar bound, but mortal tied.
My prison is vast; and I am free
To roam rough roads and jungle trails at will.
I do not lack for light of sun
Nor sight of stars, nor kiss of breeze...
Yet I am imprisoned truly.

I am prisoner of a woman who
Six times has felt the pain of childbirth
And never once its joy. This time
She counts on me to hear her baby's cry.

I am encircled by a band of children:
Hot-bodied babes, malnourished tots,
Worm-sluggish students-
To each of whom I bring a hope for health.
I am incarcerated by an aged paramount chief.

Caught in a hernia's noose, for whom
My surgeon's knife alone can bring release
And further days in which to bless his clan.

I am the captive of a devoted Sister
Smiling her Madonnalike smile through white hood,
Risking brutal theft of the chastity she offers Christ
To minister to those who hate her race.
And I am enslaved by him who came proclaiming
Release to all the captives of the earth.

I am a prisoner of Christ in Congo!
And I would not escape.

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