Poetry

Your Lullaby

The first time I held you, I started humming tunes,
Trying to find one that fit;
One that felt right.
I find the start of one, but it’s minor and melancholy -
Not lullaby material.
I feel another.
Yes, that’s it.
As I hold you each day, I hum the tune,
Letting the melody go in whatever direction feels right.
Slowly, your song is being written.
Then you’re gone.
When I can, I hum again.
Your song.

Beauty Seeker

Once again I sit in the shattered pieces
of my broken heart

Like shards of glass each cut and
break, deeper and more irreparable
than the last

I try to find myself in the pieces like
looking for a reflection in slivers of a
broken mirror

I’m losing myself more and more with
each tragic break

Mother Africa

Mother Africa you abused and bruised little thing
We try our best to silence you and the song that you sing

You’ve bore selfish children that have inflicted on you unimaginable pains
Billions of children but not one calls your name

They have gashed you deep in the heart, and left you to die
But still you give a genuine smile and an unwilling goodbye

You would still sacrifice your muddy waters to suckle the herd
But your children have grown and refuse to return
Except for the money and riches you offer
Or when you are ill or we, at the alter