N'Wananga

This is poem to my unborn son With tears flowing fluently like the Xithuve river, I wrote this To let my son know that everything is never as it seems Even those who identify themselves as saints, are not saints In the absence of our eyes a demon that lies within them is born Not to mention doctors who will smile at him on his birthday Like the world is a better place Welcoming him to a home of people who cannot differentiate between love or hate It is a territory of people who are hurt and broken People who wear expensive suits just to cover up their evil deeds Always wearing that perfect smile to charm those who are Ignorant enough not to see their flaws deep inside With tears flowing fluently like the Xithuve river A silent voice speaks hope N’wananga-Son