A Confused Soul Poem by DICKSON MSETI

A voice of hope is heard, from a distant blur,
Shall the cried face slap the heated stone?
For the table is burned down to its ashes
Should it be the rain turning off the candle?
Or the storm have been surrounded by bees,

The tale is told and all the ayes opened to see,
A smell of hope turned on the tears,
They won't do nothing that resemble
I got a something called a question that burn,
I got old woman or a dove that is flying.

The sound of a blast is soon to be heard,
When that soul sees the same stupid look,
From that blast another day, and another time,
Then the colors shouldn't be the same,

The sun shouldn't hurt my eyes but it does,
The rain should be a sign of blessing, why do I cry?
The soul is done, confused by the noise of the sound,
The land is played Gold while nothing to hold.

The soul lost in the deep snow, while trying to score,
A dream was lost in vain, it was never heard,
When the soul came back it was a total dark,
East and west were all the same,
The soul cried hard no one heard, but its own sound.