Plague Of Locusts Poem by Tshepo Malekutu

The world is stoned and silenced by a dim cloud,
it is sinking in the riverbanks of shadows,
and hope is buried and encrypted far away from us.

What a strange curtailment of locusts!
It is a cold day in hell but God is at our doorstep,
this great world will endure, resuscitate and flourish.

We are outworn and stricken by sickness
that arrested the world with hell burning in flames,
but medical champions are holding the candles for us.

God stands for sure!
Even when the world is coughing blood,
becoming homeless and exhausted by the virus.

The family of darkness sells it, and there is no rest,
we are behind closed curtains and the pain is real,
the Covid-19 flare-up like a rank of angry beasts.

This is not the end times but just gloomy realities,
these dark times will shrink the world,
but ancestors of this world left noble
bravery to skirmish any plague of locusts.

This virus is flying faster than Peregrine Falcon
but Nature never cursed us and in these raining times,
the sun will rise again and we will turn the soil.