silent violence.

When I sit under the mango tree;

breathing air that's free-

I oft° smile at the whirling wind,

wishing away the turbulence in my mind.

When I listen to the morning joke,

off my neck I unchain the yoke-

this that weighs bow my bony frame;

so I smile not to impress, but my anger to tame.

I greet not with a sullen face,

even though I've known no peace.

I've a consuming flame within;

embers of anger smoulders me thin,

but then, oft° revere the violence-

resident in my silence.

©Bunguswa Brian™