POEM: From Stained Hands


We pout our lips and push our eyes
To the other side,
Where guilt has judged and sentence is passed
Thinking the sun does not touch all
And forget home is theirs until
Evening is cooked by the pots of hate
We then say fate has taken their faith
And neutralized their pure innocence
With an unknown passion of been lost
In the world we cannot see or touch
Yet we sail with them and yet do not eat with them
They will come home, mummy cried
They will return to this hut, daddy said
They did not come again, we saw
Will they ever see the sun from here?

A dawn of a new day, I suppose its pregnant
With a lot of children to give your arms as master
Of the day and of night
The wanderer’s curse is not just for him alone
But our own labor is theirs to reap
When nights are fearful of its own darkness
And the sun is scared of her own fire
When melted metals diffuse to find
Hiding places in flesh of men
The scare, its fright
The sorrow, for today
I lost 40 more boys to you
As though you were waiting for my comfort
My soul and cry
To join their sisters
Will you come home, so we can eat together?
Will you find the footpath that draws you here?
Will my hands keep been stained for the good?
And yours not clean for the bad?
Will the lost ever be found?

(Dedicated to the 40 missing brothers)


2 thoughts on “POEM: From Stained Hands

  1. It’s indeed sad the situation we find ourselves in with the state of our Nation. But I strongly belief everything happens for a reason. Kip on reaching out thru dem poems to help remind us abt the situation we in & the need to strive for a better tomorrow .#Nicepiece


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