Twisted in a story that no one told,
Going to places that no one named,
Worshipping white saints and a pot of gold,
In a journey that yields while many beg.
The roof is an anchor to a stomach bled,
The crown becomes heavy in another man's bed,
To grieve in absentia is a cure instead,
Live for tomorrow and beg for bread.
A lot still happens in a world constrained,
Lack of movement breeds another mistake,
The walls will regret it when the time betrays,
All the more reason to begin again.
Three little fingers and a pointed face,
Why must it matter when no one says,
Truth gets frustrated in a broken shed,
Just keep on milking, the cow is fed.
* * *
8 February 2020,
Diani, Mombasa
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