Cynthia Osazuwa
Imminent
Again I have to stand
At the point of no chance.
I pity my past,
Yet I fear the future.
What end will it bring?
What cost will it take?
What fate will it accord to the young seed?
Having put all faith in positive expectations
We murmur and grieve in muted silence,
Like the bee buzz.
Living with unending fear
Of having shattered dreams.
The land has become a territory were coal is being carried and thrown to a new castle,
Leaving the deserted part empty.
Our smiles are fenced with thorns.
As what we crave for, is to see a beautiful morning,
Starting afresh, like a new earth.
Coming down from the bossom of our creator.