In this place, I tarry.
In this place of shiny darkness,
Of creepy crickets filling my ears
Of sweating smells suffocating the air,
Of geared snores setting lour on my face.
In this place, I tarry.
Where bones are smitten by sleep:
Transportation to the other realm
Where senses are softened by sleep,
Scavenger of strengths, locker of eyes.
In this place, I tarry.
With my eyes not iced by the stygian sky,
Rather like the summer-noon sun, open
to dry the mud I sit in, the slick floor
outside the door, and to thaw.
The frozen hope of feat the dawn brings
to me, in this place I tarry.
Read – Broken Oath – A Poem by Edith Natacha Lamne, Cameroon
This poem was published in the December 2021 Edition of the WSA Magazine
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