In Vain
You passionately
shared the warmth
of handsome men.
Blessed with the
fruit of youthful
women.
Expectation
glimse the face of
white haired
mother,the breath
of a grand child.
The drought came
before the wet
season, your fruit-
fall unripe, such gold
crop fades
ungathered.
When the rain
comes, hail mother
with uncounted
abort, who will run
and giggle in your
house?
When hair once
ebony turns silver-
gray,who will
weave them and
grace your ears
with painted songs?
Give them a chance
same as yours,they
too deserve to live.
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