poem by
Stephen Mupoto
The bitchy sands,
White and shy with love,
Sprawl like threads of liberated wool.
Like butterflies we trudged,
The breath of these sands,
And dangle love like a knacker's occupation.
The little tales,
That secretly perch in these silent reeds,
Are tales never to be spoken.
The River Side has her own sins,
And the reeds stand in ovation,
As they dance to the cadence of the exhausted waves,
Of a dying river.
The birds that forlornly perch,
Below the angry skies,
Whisper of deep malevolence,
That the riverside harbours,
Like a thief's treasure.
©ngugi
N