Treasure Island

Comfort Ndlovu


Poor and Parched and bare and dry


Our hands are bare and dry
Please give us a little oil,
Our lands are poor and parched
Please bring rain to our sandy soil,
Our hearts are bruised and broken
from daily trouble and tears and turmoil,
Our flesh is red from the rising scourge
and our wounds are beginning to burst and boil,
Our eyes are hindered sight by fog and black mist
Thick like smoke from a mosquito coil;
Poor and parched and bare and dry our souls daily become
as we battle to build our blocks in heart-rending toil.

All is at stake, all at stake is;
All men and animals are never at ease
So I cry I cannot fly
So I weep I cannot leap
but I'm drawn in between the crocodile's frown
and I wallow in a grey grave shallow.

Submitted: Sunday, May 05, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, May 07, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Toil, tears and turmoil 'till one bites the dust... Less and less hope on earth, 'till all Hope is forever gone.

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