Monotony of Being the poem

Hush of country

That awaits for the messiah.

Country forever frozen,

Singing melodies of pain,

Melodies that swell in the air.

Country

of once half buried faces

in the earth,

Of murky

Bloodied rivers

And unbridled cries

Hush of country

That awaits for the messiah.

In silence lies the dread

For the night,

For the descending darkness

With it idle

unresolved, nightmarish dreams.

In the hush lies hope,

Hope that bears no face,

No resemblance.

In hope and silence

Waits a once young man,

Now old haggard and wrinkled.

Who waits under the baobab

For his beloved,

Beloved who ceases to exist.

In excruciating silence

Waits the young for the bus to pass,

For the dust to rise then settle,

For hope to appear then disappear.

Hush of country

That awaits for the messiah

Silent land of dry riverbeds,

Of weary hearts.

Country of mud huts

And cattle pens.

Of the woman in the field,

On the grinding stone,

Of the man in the savannah,

Of the hoe digging,

Rain falling,

Seed sprouting,

Green then brown,

Of seasons

With reasons

Of visions.

Of the grinding stone,

Trudge to the well,

Fire in the hearth,

Of love in the savanna,

Of reasons

For seasons

With visions.

Hush of country

That awaits for the messiah!

©Barbra-Breeze Anderson