The days when our mothers worked
The nights fathers planned tomorrow’s sowing
The ears of corn and wheat swaying afield.
Remind me of when the earth sprouted gold
Of when the men grew fat and plump
The barns were bursting with stock
And stores catered to all.
I forget because my store is empty
My children are desolate of learning
My niece, she lost a limb to fire’s carnage.
I forget because my church was burnt
My house floated away in water
And my ruler, he stole my remaining hope.
Of the times of the moonlight dances
Remind me of the harvest songs
For all I hear now are echoes of war.
meet the poet: Chileh Pedro
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.