BY PAMELA BOWMAN
Lazy horizon swallows the African light
Dust and dusk silhouette sauntering baskets upon chitenge.
Faithful followers of ancient paths.
Deepen the trail of their children’s graves.
Dark child straddles what once was, is and will be.
Eating the dust that has long been stale.
Wondering wandering waterless way
Back to where nomads wouldn’t linger, couldn’t stay.
Small fires signal the presence of life and home
Boiling the nshima to fill their hungry souls.
Bloody moon half rises to silent sobering eyes
The cries have died without ears to hear and mouths to lie.
Wind carries the morning without a hint of dew.
Young withered hands are hunting food.
Babies wake with stomach empty ache.
Another African morning, more souls to break.
