By Norman Mwale [The PenPusher]
Lift your feet, and look further
Down
They isn’t any shadows left behind
On the spotter earth,
Only the withering sound
Of your footsteps is detected
Being carried away by the blue wind,
To cimmerian places
Where prehistoric cultures
Will never be earned;
No single bone or ashes
Of your kind shall mark your foretime.
The sun will go to a deep sleep
In wee hours of the morning,
Leaving your posterity foredoomed,
Barely exposed to ravening vultures
And not knowing where you buried
Your lousy umblicals!
