Smoke drumrolls dance,

indigenous
verve,

observed
conserved
preserved
reserved

a shaman's stance

reduced

to an historical prance.

The room is sparkling clean
A soft tune of "Amazing grace" is playing on the computer
The blinds and windows are open for fresh air
Pain & suffering still linger in the air
The room smells of an unwanted guest
The sun gently kisses her body as she lies peacefully on the perfectly made bed
Her hands on her chest showing gratitude
"Hallelujah" by the Pentatonix is playing loudly in her earphones
She's not listening to it
She's not answering to her name being called either
She's very still & cold
She has finally found her peace
Her long awaited lover, Death.

If I was asked to write a story
I will write about hope
For the little she child
Germinating like weeds in the streets.

Pivoting a tray on frail neck.
Hawking fruits while books lay dormant.

Look at Her!
Lemons sprouts abruptly:
Buns smeared with oils of lust.
The she child: An object of *******.

Forced out of secure fences
By the fierce fire of hunger and starvation.

Mummy told her not to talk to strangers
But to strangers she must sell
Out of sight and out of cover
She was pounced on and devoured!

Another maiden is bleeding red tears.
A child becomes a mother!

Even if I had a mandate to write
On clean placards for all to see In white.
I wont waste my ink and sheets
For this generation does not read nor see.