There was fright here, from this ancient fortress.
The sun so soon became as black as figures; clothes
five feet high
The skies fell forth, clad in leather jerkin
to the desolate.
The moon turned to the shadows;
there caught a baby’s darkest laugh
which spat and dropped in droblet
grey hose.
A sight no eye could see with the nook-noise
of another’s stare.
Like a broken window clad in crinoline—
There she waited and waited and waved
in the vigil’s rot—
For her loss, yes, or the one who followed her
windy sweat—
But, of course, there was no-one there.
This Poem was published in the May 2019 edition of the WSA magazine. Please click here to download.
Read – Bleeding – A Poem by Christina H Lwendo, Tanzania
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