WHERE SORROWS ARE DROWNED
WHERE SORROWS ARE DROWNED Under the masquerade tree The one not far from my perch, The place where dead butterflies find peace, And lost souls find solace, I buried my sorrows with leaves at night. They moan at night over my house Like night runners in the streets of Kenya, They don't scream; instead, they cry and shed tears Of buried memories and forgotten happiness— Enchanting famines and vultures feasting on proteins; Of scarred virgins and wandering widows; Of countries that never be and will never be; Of the protruding belly of a war child; Of natives of nowhere but their home; These noises and moanings make my heart restless And my brain lost its greyness—its peace. I woke up this morning and unburdened the trees ...
