Discarded Lot Poem by Eric Mwenda

Discarded Lot



Though
storms of time
yield shreds of broken dreams,
and discarded sons, in its wake

though the cunning floods come
and fleeing winds follow,
blowing everything away,
leaving this lands bare and naked
but full with cries of women,
Though the sun scortches high
and cold stings at night,
-sleep evades like man to plague
or man from his cross

Though the mansions of faith collapse
with them, the windows of hope,
Though echoes of joy grow faint,
for these women,
at dawn of a struggle,
there comes good tidings in time

so though we hurt
we heal,
though we cry, we laugh:
we, the defiant lot
who refuse to wither;
The sun can't break us,
the floods can't wash away
nor can time bury us,
we are still here
we
the seeds sown in the bush
we still smile
we
the discarded sons

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Dave Walker 30 November 2011

Great poem liked it. A good write.

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