Kampepuza

William Khalipwina Mpina

When tears are stirred in their sacs
Only wind can wipe or whisper stories

The dream withers without a red flag
Or sirens breaking the morning market noise
The wind blows to bring betrayal
Or darkness to witness crushing of ideas
As silently Kampepuza comes
To poke sores of scolded souls
Taken or picked up like army worms
In part, pleasant.
In part, unpleasant to those whose
God the market was
When tears are stirred in their sacs
Only wind can wipe or whisper stories
Of sunbathed pain and sorrow