Mpoki Thomson Mwakyanjala

As tears crawl down.
Isolated he falls down.
For he is an infant.
And life seems so distant.

Al the brave are slain.
And all he can hear are sounds of pain.
The sight of children is so rampant.
If they were inert.
It would have been a brutal massacre

As haven departs, melancholy sets in with a sound of triumph.
For what it has achieved.

The cosmopolitan city has bewildered his mind.
Once it used to be trees and grass.
Now it is concrete and glass.
He used to run down slopes of mountains.
Now he runs around streets and markets.
This world is now bitter.
And he lacks the companion to make it better

Mpoki Thomson

The wails fly into the air as a machine gun is at its duty.
Children with nothing to look at but blood.
Yearn for mysterious love.
Life to many.
Is like meat on blazing fire.

He walks down the boulevard.
Of broken dreams.
He dreams only during day.
And as dusk embraces the skies.
Like a toddler he looks for a place to hide

Life has lost meaning.
Haven and tranquility sought like crystals on ice.
But all in vain and the calamity.
is still the same.

He is isolate like the Saharan desert.
He is maltreated like a slave but he is not.

He starts to ramble in devotion.
Searching for redemption.
For he knows he is not subjected to any retribution.