Village Of The Dead

I walked through
the village of the dead today
my heart sunk and my hands shook,
my knees dropped to the earth

the sunken eyes of children
hunger ate them to the bone
song on their lips forever gone
never to be heard again

Emaciated women,
holding dying children
too weak, and men;
men with no hope, no pride, no
anger, all forever withdrawn.

I came too late.
That thought ran through my mind,
my fury and fear combined
as I watched them breathe their last

Too late,
I saw their bodies gaunt
and made futile attempts
to find the ones left.

I came too late,
the water and food I brought
flung on the ground
useless to the dead.

Too late,
I did not respond to their
calls, their pleas of despair
I thought it was not my affair

and now death’s in the air
what can I say?
I didn’t come before I wasn’t there
and in my shame I can only lie here

prone; on dry land, on barren soil
that bore nothing from the toil
of those who lie here
dead.

I can only lie here and pray
there’s nothing I can say
to bring back the village of the dead;
it’s too late
Too late.
PoP © 21 Jan 06
About the drought victims in North Eastern Kenya