Comfort Ndlovu


Dry lands, empty hands


Bless my curse but do not curse my blessing,
In the sight of my plight a blackbird ceases to sing.
I am a forlorn - a forlorn figure
Left with cares and nothing better and bigger.

Our great God reigns
but in our lands it never rains,
Our God Almighty rules
but Nature seemingly forgets his rules.

Alone - sailing in the sands
Palely ploughing the sands,
Dry lands, empty hands
Poor and parched fallow lands.

To no avail the ant does toil;
He waits for water as he builds the soil
yet the soil - like mosquito coil
continues to dry and burn and boil.

The tower of our hopes bent and burnt
The tired lesson of hunger learnt:
All eyes on the partly-cloudy sky
yet the clouds currently are mean and shy.

Submitted: Wednesday, November 20, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

What more can I say? Cry? Blue the sky, the land's dry, oh my!

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