I head a voice so faint and distance

Afar in a place a of rejection and isolation

The voice of grieve and sorrow

The voice of some one so desperate and in need

Someone, condemned and ostracized

Sentenced to mental torture with a future so bleak

It was a victim

Caught up in the claws of the most fearsome calamity ever to befall humanity

Trapped in the unforgiving tentacles of HIV the terminator

He wept not for the syndrome yet to follow

For it was yet to follow

He wept more for the stigma of the present

The rejection

The scorn

The hatred

Stricken by the pains of compassion for the soul of the one so afflicted

Compelled out by the force of love and empathy

I reached out with a hand of comfort.

Then I discovered the facts

The truth of the matter I discovered

For little did I know

HIV comes not by the touch of victim

It comes not by the shake of a hand

Neither is it transmitted by the breaking of bread together

Never is it by choice to be affected

Nor is it a desire to be affected

By no means has it ever being a thing so honorable

HIV transcends the borders of race and creed

A common enemy of death and depression

It spares not the young, the old nor the rich or poor

But the effected could live as long as Methuselah

With the Wisdom of Solomon

With the love of humanity

HIV and AIDS the devil

The terminator of dreams and wishes

But the sigma is the worse of them all.