Lamile Itale Poem by Mwenyeji Spikes

Last week strong winds blew over the dry lands
Carried with it the manyatta roofing made of grass
Shook the roots of the mighty baobab and acacia
Despair rents the air as the suns heated rays fiercely heats up the ground
The boreholes seem to give up already

Their encounters with the moon at night is their only hope
Only thing that promises them a better tomorrow
The regular morning dew didn't show up
So the quest to quench their thirst was frustrated
Not enough water from the boreholes to feed their herds

Ancestral spirits promised never to forsake them
But lately they feel desperate and deserted
At dawn the morning rituals were cold today
As they prayed to find an oasis along their way

Lamile Itale is worried sick and her stomach bulges in
And then inwards some more
The bitter roots of the Sahara Irish are bitter and dry
Without a light at the tunnels end, desperation grows
She construes that may be she should give up and die

Deeply carried away by thought
Agonizing from the troubles of cattle raids
Lamile Itale adamantly refuses to give up in this struggle
As her little son suckles her empty breasts
Ignoring constant distraction from the house flies
As it suckles the life out of its own mother
Troubles won't last hopes depressed but the spirit to fight will suffice