Friday, September 18, 2009




He sang when we sang

Rotund belly defying gravity’s pull

He cried with us, in the rubble of our burnt shacks

She held our babies, wiped their drippy noses

He sang our songs and listened to our stories

She even prayed with us, in front of our shanties and plastic houses

We believed him when he said he’d be back

He’d be back with warm blankets, utensils and food

With shoes, old mattresses and second hand clothes

Donations from kind-hearted ones

We saw her on the black and white televisions in shop windows

We saw him soliciting for our cause

Tears dangling precariously from her eyes

We waited

We knew she would come

We waited

Hoping this time he wouldn’t backtrack

On this promise, like he had numerous times

We waited…


18 Sep. 09

Speak not…

My poetry is written in dark ink

On paper as black as the woolly night

She lies painfully in my belly, head down

I scream, I heave and bear down

I curse. I pray and heave some more

She’s tearing me apart.  I scream.

Written in blood, each word painfully carved

I’m painless, passionless, endless

I am blood and bone

I’m lonely, alone.  All feeling is gone

My eyes can no longer see

This dark night mocks me


18 Sep. 09