Email Poem

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Poem

Somewhere in the deep dark night
A child suppresses tears of shame and guilt 
Her spirit crushed, her innocence torn
An Uncle, a family friend
Drank greedily from her well of youth
His thirst, a vile sickness in the dark.  

Beneath palms and ancient baobabs
A homeless owl’s cry echoes in the wind
Lonely, like the hearts of men who steal.  
A poor man, desperate for riches
Cuts down trees whose roots he never nurtured  
And the land mourns with him, silent in its grief.  

In a thin space between the end and start 
A young woman holds her second-hand heart
Broken, bleeding in her palms.  
She loved a man who danced too freely 
A man not ready to call her home
Yet now, his hands reach for what he let drift.  

Where the sun rises, where our ancestors prayed
A vibrant young nation chokes 
Its hands tight around its own neck.  
Fingers that should build
Scratch and pull, blind to one another.  
The flame of hope dims
Flickering like a tired candle
With each heartbeat of a forgotten people.

And what can I, a poet, do?  
Can my pen mend a shattered soul
Or stitch together a land broken by greed?  
I am just a voice; but a voice is something
A poem a day, like rain on thirsty soil
Might lead them to the way.

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