Tales of a Wounded Tree
They come every day, While carrying their thirsty axes, in the air they swing their pangas and murder us in cold blood.
Cruelly they chop us one by one, with no mercy they cut our body parts into pieces and load us in their trucks while others carry our carcass on their head to make us charcoal and feed us to the enemy “fire”.
I cry for my beloved brothers and their families, as many have fully gone, separated by strength and quality, For the strongest goes for timber leaving the weak ones banished into the kingdom of fire wood.
Every night is a host of thoughts, our mind turns into flooded river of imaginations, for we do not know the fate on sunrise.
As I speak am worried, for they took my arms first, I don’t know whats next, but that’s not a worry for us gray haired, my worry is they even murder children.
Please if you can hear my small voice help us, for we also help you breathe this fresh air, don’t forget transpiration as you feel the cold breeze under our shed, we too deserve to live.
Copyright © Richard Mbaka | Year Posted 2017