I had to strip you bare Of all your convictions Because you had no choice But to wear the weight of the world On your broken back
I watched as you cried Rivers upon rivers in the desert Because life had given you no choice But to save your dying garden With the only water that you had left
The heaviness of standing up straight Became too much for your swollen feet; So instead:
You stand limply with a spine crooked From the many dry days you spend, back curled over, And head hanging towards the earth-simply praying for the rain
I heard them whisper the stories About the screams they ignored That came from other side of the door Of the house you grew up in:
So tell me, was it your husband or your father That frightened you more? (Because they never said...)
Your mother always told you that Roses could never bloom in the desert- But you ploughed in dusty soils anyway, Hoping that love would grow on the pain The rains had not washed away yet
It seems that the sun had willed itself To burn down everything that you owned- So with calloused and cracked hands You dug deeper into the ground In search of anything to put the fires out
I heard you lamenting for rain In that dischorded voice of yours; But no matter how many tears you wept Or however many prayers that you sent, They were just never enough To make flowers bud in the desert.
By: Lulwama K. Mulalu
My brother says I should tie Atlas into the first stanza (which I will try and do at some point once I figure out how). I must say that poetry is a labour of love. It took me three days to write this, but even so it still seems a bit unfinished. We will shall see :)