Buried in untold stories from unfiltered ink
Grazing lands have lured the herds of unconscionable thunderstorms
So the story begins with allegories of hands that planted the seeds
A meek desire to fill the belly of truth
What if I whispered to you that the trees drank up all the rain waters and their dreams spilled out into a lush of
That disdain monsters sing lullabies to the petals forsaken by their flowers
What if I told you that I don’t eat the fruits from the east, that the sun swore a vow not to fill my longing smile
That it’s always that cathartic laughter that mellows my screams as they run out of breath
That the little fire dancers fill their ears with these endorphin tales
Often told when the moon is in a gleeful stare
What is the worth of love that altruism has vacated?
The wilderness of my heart is saturated by the salivating lips of hordes scrounging for the stillborns in their mother’s bellies as a penance of the blood that stains their teeth
I do not hail names that my tongue cannot pronounce.
Nkateko Tshabalala is a self-published author of Poetic Flair. Full bio at poetryportion.com.