A Rose In Misery

Ages past since she had dreams

All died when she came to this forsaken land

With a pitiful bundle of belongings

Crushing under a heavier weight betrayal

Traded for cattle and grain

Sold into servitude

To this ruins overgrown with weed

Bulges of crossless graves

Of sages long dead.

 

For they found the mean swine a wife

He had battered the first

Scared the second,

And now the third

Just a frightened little frame

A picture of helplessness

A rose plucked before her time

Bruising its petals

 

He gave her a basket and hoe

Pointed to the farm and market

And there she knew

Her sons will be herders of sheep

And her daughters will share her fate

 

She now floats through life

With an impassive seasonal bedfellow

A damp hearth born of leaking roofs

Mud walls letting sunbeams in

Bead necklaces the only colour in her life

 

Hands wrinkled but strong

Wakes each day to her exhausted garden

Where she tenderly weeds her livelihood

And bitterly buries her broken dreams

 

PS; pencil art illustration by Kizito Arts

Three teardrops

In the hollow of my empty room

There was an echo of a ticking clock

And by each second hand a leaking tap

A maddening frequency

Followed by a frightening silence

An aloof reflection of my wretched being

An echo of cold desertion

And the first salty tear dropped

Upon the agonizing twist of my lips

And taste left my tongue

The second cascade trickled

Along the contours of my tender cheeks

And softness left my heart

The last cruel silvery leak

Flooded the valley of my nostrils

And breath left my life.