Letter: Kempton Park resident’s poem reveals hidden struggles
Thato Mabelane's powerful poem, "The Pain Behind the Smile," offers a raw look at the challenges faced by many in Kempton Park, urging a deeper understanding of those in need.
Editor – My name is Thato Mabelane, and I am writing to share a deeply personal experience I believe deserves to be heard by our community.
I have written a heartfelt poetic message titled The Pain Behind the Smile – A Message from the Street that reflects my experience and speaks to the need for true care and dignity for all, regardless of how they appear on the outside.
I’ve attached the poem as an image post to this email.
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This is not just my story; it is the silent story of many who are judged by how they look instead of being listened to with love.
Thank you for being a voice to the voiceless.
The pain behind the smile – A message from the street
I knocked on a door called Care,
Weary feet, cold air in my chest,
Hoping for mercy, just one night’s rest
But the keeper said, “The office is closed,”
Though her eyes were open, and her heart was not.
I stood there still,
Silent prayer in my breath,
But her voice came again like a sword without love
“Go sleep in the street.”
That night, the sky had no stars for me.
My soul asked, “Is this a care centre, or just another wall?”
Days passed.
I came again, carrying the dust of the struggle.
No water. No light.
Just a need to be clean, Body aching to be seen.
They have a mobile shower,
Given for the “outside people,”
But I was told, “You look clean, you don’t need it.”
What does clean look like when you’ve been forgotten?
When the taps are dry
And your pillow is concrete?
She said, “This place isn’t for you.”
But she never asked, “What are you going through?”
O, how quick the world is
To judge the cover,
But never read the pages inside.
Yet God… God sees the chapters they ignore.
He sees the cries behind smiles,
The bruises beneath the pride.
“For man looks at the outward appearance,
but the Lord looks at the heart.”
– 1 Samuel 16:7
So I write this not in bitterness,
But with a fire in my soul
Let the name “Care” mean something again.
Let the hands of help reach deeper.
Let love not be a gate,
But a garden where all can wash, rest, and rise.
Don’t judge my story by my shoes.
They’ve walked roads you’ll never know.
And don’t measure my need by how I appear
Pain has many faces.
Struggle wears different clothes.
So next time someone knocks
Please open with grace.
