Here comfort is a pleasure
But comfortably we cuddle and manoeuvre under this thorny blanket
Belching fumes of hunger
Recalling sad stories of the dead
Humming to the tune of the machine gun
Trading foul breaths
But the soul shimmers with hope
For one day we shall plant bullets and ARVs in the cemetry and harvest our lost brothers and sisters
There shall be enough hope to fill our stomachs and cuddle again with the greiving orphan
The warmth of our smile is our spear