Sunday, 15 January 2017

poetry in the desert

A carefull peep,
through the cracked walls,
of this solitary hut in
in the desert's heart,
i see a skeleton mum,
pulling a poor basin,
from under the table,
and her leg is feeble,
i see her expose her whites,
not for pleasure, untold anguish,
then she makes a full cover,
of the poor basin,
and she aligns her sacred pit into the
poor basin,
that dosen't complain,
even as the skeleton mum bewitches it,
as she drains herself off the body urine,
to be used tomorrow as drinking watwer,
that quench their thirst,
the desert apes and babes,
she then retreats back and falls,
with a musical thud at a no seat,
for a second time,
her effortsto rise up again,
hits a rock with no gain,
am tempted to go help her up,
but how can i when taboo is the verb,
the act of a young man,
seeing an aged mum's bonney belly,
let her rest, let the skeleton mum rest,
she is devoid of strength,blood ,
and name,
she has lost them all in the heart of the,
wicked whistling desert,
she's fed on all the desert's thriving leaves,
she has fed on all the cattle carcas,
the remains ofv the once lived healthy cattle,
that succumb to drought,

                                By Omullo elly

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