Such gentle flower
Wrapped in comforts of crimson petals
For of my thoughts are so much shaken in
That thunders of mine heart
Be felt speaking in drumming rhymes
Heard in the minds of sleeping ancestors.


For with it in my arms
I would do of all things
Yet but one.

I would drink of all seas
Rain down the stars at her seeing
Song the hissing cobra to sleep
But never worth her kiss
The purest of her piece.

O’ you of red petals,
Thee need be handled fairly
For your fragility is of matter
That mine heart would crumble
To the least of its breath
For seeing her break
Would mean it’s death.

( Fahad Kaija, Uganda)


Ageless Friend

Don’t Cry, Hypocrite

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