by  Ewurama Akyere Saah


broken pieces

The moon moves swiftly
like the eagle of the sky.
He tells us nothing.
His flaming fire,
saps our strength.

And the pots of shadows
come crawling at the feet
of our flesh of dust
and of wind…

The wind does not break
a tree that bends;
we are broken trees
to the glory of the wind.

Oh, the coming nights may
drop her dim light
on our fears

We shall weave a new hope
upon the night…


Ewurama  Akyere Saah a sophomore at KNUST,Kumasi, Ghana. She blogs here.


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