When sun-baked
Gaborone afternoons
touch this skin
it hazily recalls
fingertips
caressing
the slight membrane
of emotions
half-forgotten under
under layers
of Kgalagadi sand
When poetry wears parched skin
and speaks in gasping voices
priests and planners
have to find means
to harness the sun to make rain
and not fritter days
raising heat about being
land-locked mind-locked
language-locked freedom-locked.
money-locked and love-locked
in islands of receding peace
Tiro Sebina
Leave a Reply