I am a nomad, led in hand
by my crimson past, carrying satires
across the wastelands
of sighs & of heaves.
I’m a nomad—a bird of passage–
a wandering star, living in a sky
I can not call my home.
My people see me & take to their heels
I have become a prayer
they no longer say ‘amen’ to.
My children see me & they all flee
they never want to see, or even
be like me— my friends
have condemned me
to my very end— I’m the sun
they wish to have never shone.
Everything good debars me—
Even death has abhorred me.
I am the nomad
who’s not fit for living
neither am I worthy
of dying.
Read – Lone Time – A Poem by Hamid Abiyo Omar, Kenya
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