Everything Here
I shout your name into the dark night A forest of shadows And there is no hyena around to respond Where are you!?
But there are some poems that pretty much write themselves, they just come to me and it is as easy as me putting pen to paper. These happen in the middle of conversation, or because I saw a bird fly, or thought about the smile of a boy, or because it’s raining outside.
The society is depicted to be expectant. Waiting for a turnaround to the challenges that plague us. We are described to be ‘waiting so long for our laughter' but it never comes. The culprits responsible for this tragedy are ‘pol- thieves-cians' as rightly described by the poet via the application of poetic license.
