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Are you listening?
Can my cry be heard?
I endlessly weep
Day after day
Yet what do I see...
The barren plains
Soaked by the blood
Of the ones we love
Do I cry for war? No!
Too many have already shed their tears
He rocks silently
Malnourished, diseased
But to the breath of life
His feeble heart clings
Food, That's what I see for my son
I will bring you water
I heard him say
Promise after promise
Maybe this time it will be
I hold my breath, anxious
Then...
I must be in the past
I'm not so sure
Definately not in the future
Rise my son,
Shine like the sun
I cry for you
You who dwells
In this jungle
Find your way
And rise above the thick
Then my cry
Will bear fruit
And you my son
You ...
Will stop the crying.
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Writer Profile
Joseph Nthia
I love writing short stories and poetry. Imagination keeps the brain alive ,reality keeps the mind in touch.
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