Stumbling
Wearily onto the veranda
White hat in hand,
And falling into the wicker chair,
Where lemonade is waiting,
But it has grown warm in the sun.
Weeping
The Mutarazi streaming from inside me
And my hands so empty,
Brown from the sun and in need
Of some soap and water,
But I am unable to walk inside.
Gazing
With the emptiness of a gray sky
Across the short grass
That sits still and ochre in the sun
Saying nothing to me,
Though I beg it for answers.
Gasping,
As my heart flutters within me
And I reach out with one empty hand
Stretching for the lemonade
But my hand falls short
And I fall instead, heart broken.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem