The sighing moon
With stories untold left at the base of our lips,
Drenched by tales that turned hunger to breakfast,
We laid our chopped fate on nightmares that flips
Viability off raw memories that shrink so fast.
We climbed the tree of tears with bereaved legs
And held its fruits with shivering might to life.
For on our heartbeat is where sorrow pegs
Threads of misfortune,for sweats to spread our strive.
The stars also scanned scars of broadening despair
On the dying phloem that transmitted genes of problem
To the source of our only hope – tearing sans repair,
Which is a symbolic stanza in our amputated anthem
On our backs are shades of poverty
Even when alms laid their palms with coins,
For our skulls are pail to rains of redundancy
After being dug by the thunderstorm with sparkling loins
Claimed best legacy chained on tattered thoughts
Of the day revival would roar at our shivering dance
With chants of possibility sprod on the clouds like mats,
Where dew of new song drizzles on our breath’s face
We pray for festive seasons every second
For our vault is surrounded by naught.
Now that the sun can only listen to our muttering sound,
Will the moon still sigh at our deprived lot?
