Bieze Josephat


Her World


She is focused
Drumming her naked lap
As moving
Feet thud and flip flop clap

People move to and fro
Barely recognizing her
Usual spot
Whether cold
Or hot
The mud woman is ever there
Like an abandoned broken pot

She never rise her
Head to say a word
Or smile or blink
Or scorn or point;
She only stares
At her lit fire
As it consumes
The thorny sticks
And as the curling smoke
Vanish never to return.

Submitted: Thursday, June 19, 2014

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