“I can’t breathe!”, I screamed. “I can’t hear!”, was the echo. Think about it, It’s thirty years the first promise was crafted Yet, nothing positive
Trust is the dragonfly of days of drench, Though both brothers bother same from the same trench, Wherein chains chip away their days into nothingness.
Breathe, breathe…I wish I could breathe. The infant’s face crimped into morbid contortion by pending asphyxia Breathe, the breath Adam received The breath we all
Is it the dark tunnel through which the bullet Travels to draw blood and replace breath With the reek of death? Is it the bland
Ever seen termites work a mighty tree down to a heap of saw dust and firewood? Out in Babadjou in Cameroon, I saw a couple
They said they loved us. They said what had hovelled us this long Would melt in the ideas they’d put to physical form, fixing the