CHANGES

 

My mama now complains, says she can no longer predict the rains

Wonders how the seasons have changed, all the rains that came have aged

She tells me of how she struggles to sow, but the fertile soil is no more

Its hard to break through the dry , bare and infertile soil

''I used to tell from the scorching sun, the bird's migrating and the melting of glacier''

It's all through the seasons now , some say it all is a curse

they believe hunger cannot strike twice, for no valid reason

The suns burns her bare skin, she can't dare raise her chin-

for an ounce of hope for the future, a future for her seven children before hunger strikes them down

They all depend on her to provide their basic needs, and all this exceeds her capacity

If the rains won't come the outcome will be the end of her, probably resolve to cutting trees and lease her land

The sun burns, clothes tatter so fast and it shutters her heart and scatter her hopes

There are whirlwinds now, blowing the tidiest bits of hope left

If mama is going to suffer and so will her offsprings

We are left hoping for a miracle, with a belief that it's all but an imaginary chronicle

A dream and not a grim reality.

Years of drought and famine come and years of flood and famine come, and the climate is not changed with dance, libation or prayer.