Dry Land

By Deborah Enyo Omali 5 months ago

I long for that sound one more time,

Like the sound of a bubble gum

Clapping between the teeth of an amateur.

Like the cry of a child longing for 

The relief that flows from the breast.

Like the roughness of a tongue dying

To be smoothened with the drop of life.

I was born on this soil, the land that 

Shines brightest at day and runs into 

Hiding at the mention of night.

Trees cracking,

The Winds rejuvenating.

Sun piercing,

The tars burning.

The clouds hosting its feast of crusade 

Just to dance on our skin as we watch.

With our eyes, we gaze at loners as they

Spread their seeds across. 

And our gates bruised with the knocks of the plague we fear.

We have ran out of drug to this illness as

Our dermis fade slowly with the wind of the north.

Just like Oliver Twist, all I ask for is more.

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