Solemn plea

If the morning sun should shrug shoulders,

never to let the primrose rays on earth's murky face;

then; dear God, hold on to the heavenly tears,

Water not our already muddy abode.

We've seen the faint rays-

our goose-pimpled skins grieve for warmth,

to smooch our wrecked frames;

dear God, hold on to the heavenly tears.

We've known the cold that cuts,

like a surgeon's blade on none anaesthetized body,

reminiscing yesterday with utter pain-

let not sour tears cut through our unnumbed skins,

for misery we pray not-

let your sun smile again.

Bunguswa Writes.