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An outcast
In his own home,
This country man
Lost his country throne.
And all that was the norm
Became the past,
Useless like old corn,
Only days to last.

The silence, he says is deafening
The moment, unsure
And Death, he fears
Is unfamiliar no more.
He regrets for the weakling
Whose future is obscure.
Wondering, “what happened to the beginning
Where Love was the only cure?”

Tears water the earth
But can’t grow fruit.
Negativity cannot give birth
To Life’s Holy Truth.
So he thinks of faith
And hope for the growing tomorrow,
That the rain would increase by strength-
Its own rate,
And not tears to borrow.

Written by: Fret Mid-summer Siren Ñêêtå
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson

Author: admin

I am a member of the WRR editorial team.

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