Poem: Wind

Written in the presence of Ntsikayomzi Pemba- Camps Bay, South Africa

 

It blows me still,

Blows the chaos, slow.

Slow I flow,

To and fro…

Waiting for the good times to

Just come already.

And stay already.

 

I need the wind to pray for my soul,

Because my prayers never make me whole.

I’m left hollow-

But I know the wind blows clean,

I beam.

 

My pure, broken soul-

Is free,

It seems.

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