The bows’ string is loosed
The swords’ thread snaps
The wingless bird lands
– screeching –
Harbinger of the rain,
Twisting, writhing from pain.
Graves of dreamers forever left aspiring
A shrilling cacophony of nothing.
what a shame!
Admiring
the
luminous
fungibane
from afar,
I blow my nose in their name.
Issa A. Dioume 