blinking hope.

You shuttered my dream before I rose-

you must have kept vigil in my mind.

But you forgot to inter the optimism;

I thus dust my knees,

and rise toward the morning sun-

like a desert flower,

over the sandstorms I'll not cower.

Had you slept in my mind:

you'd have shared the dream,

you'd have shaped the hope,

but solemn insomniac gave you away-

to shred the vision to pieces.

Blankly we stare at the bare sky;

the abyss,

embracing the blinking hope.

If our tears should sour

the bosom of our hearts,

like rain water on a rotting thatch,

the weed will bloom.

If sour rain should blanket our eyes,

depriving us the nourishment;

thirsting us frail,

then, brace no more to wail.

Bunguswa Writes.