Photography | Picha, Poetry | Ushairi, Writing | Maandishi


I’m not upset with you — I’m mad at the ocean
How its tides sway from coast to coast
Mocking the distance between us.

I’m cross with Earth for splitting into pieces.

For shattering such that you rise when I set,
That I’m awake when you sleep,
The clock robs us of rest.

It’s like hopping on stones across a river:
Will I make it to you? Will you make it to me?
Or will we meet halfway and drown?

Colliding above the current
That threatens to suck us under,
You forget that I never quite learnt how to swim.

But you can, and you might save me…
Wait for me downstream
As I float up with the debris of our love

Seven years of drought then seven years of plenty;
May the rains that make the river swell
Also water our fields.

© Sylvia Ilahuka, 2018

The Waiting Game

Poetry | Ushairi, Writing | Maandishi

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for a patient,
for tomorrow so you can begin a fresh attempt/task/habit instead of just starting it today
(or even right now),
to be called,
to settle on a decision,
for it to be evening then for it to be morning because “it got dark too quickly”,
to have “enough” money,
to have enough time,
for the world to change.
Waiting, waiting, waiting;
until our feet hurt.

© Sylvia Ilahuka, 2017

waiting game