A woman has been bleeding,
Not a normal bleeding,
Not for normal days,
But a bleed drenched in pain.
Twelve long years, she’s bled,
Her name whispered in every corner,
No one dares stand beside her,
Her people carry the blame.
She’s seen every doctor,
Poured out her life’s savings,
A regular in their waiting rooms—
But still, the bleeding flows.
She’s stood before religious leaders,
Prayers offered, offerings made,
All the rituals, all the giving,
Yet, the blood continues its course.
Well-wishers have sent their best,
But deep down, they wish her rest—
Twelve years is a long time to bleed.
Yet here she stands, still alive, still bleeding.
Then comes the true Healer,
Unlike doctors, unlike priests, unlike people—
He knows no fees,
He speaks no ill,
He brings no judgment.
Does He know her by name?
No.
Does He demand a price?
No.
Does He scorn her affliction?
No.
She believes in Him,
She reaches out by FAITH,
Touches Him—
And WAAH, the bleeding stops!
