Dejected
My creativity mourns
In the desert of words
Longing for deceased times
When it flowed naturally
Like the Nyiro into Victoria.
Hitherto
It spurred me to write
Making me shed light
On things great
And others mundane.
Now my fingers are insane
Before
Words formed rivers
Which turbulently did flow
Away washing my concerns
But now the times have changed.
I have become barren!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem