Let It Rain (Buutu - Tales of Grandpa)

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 Strobes of light writhe off a shy wood fire

shining brighter than streets of Hampshire 

encircled and lit in the darkest of nights

nourishing hungry livid faces off illuminance,

soothed by tales of Grandpa

synchronized with hoots of an aged owl.


Nostalgic embrace of dry tales

along a land dipped in scorch 

fractured clefts of the earth and lips

In the squeak of dry obnoxious laughter 

our hearts quake aches of a question 

"When will it rain?"


Behold a quietus in humble transcend

a filth in stealth

under a dome of a raven swarms

tiptoes culmination, a judgement by fire

An end yet to come. 


Tearless woes of congregational sobs

ducts been drained to drought all along

on empty stomachs and dry throats, 

young and old in bold out we cry, 

"skies give me rain - Ggulu mpa enkuba" 


Behold stands a throng besides entombment,

entombment of a god of showers,

rumbling stomps, drum beats, chants of psalms.

a ritual of sanctification and atonement,

a lasting ordinance for all generations to come.


@juliuscseguya




Comments

  1. Anonymous10:29 AM



    Your poetry is growing in leaps and bounds.

    This is publishable. No false praise, no flattery, just the honest truth.

    The imagery is captivating, with nuances bringing about deep feelings.

    It's the genuineness of the poem.

    Striking.

    ReplyDelete

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