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The End
#MonsoonPoem
From a distance,
the incessant chant of monsoon from south west,
sounds like an old witch practising her craft,
Odd thoughts in persistence,
like why the placenta died, why was I born undressed,
Old trees enchant, my heart is pitched in my chest, mind rolling like a crankshaft
Sooner than later non existant,
This body shall incant the magical jest,
And as the chain continues, be embedded in this earth raft.
© nyangirojoe
From a distance,
the incessant chant of monsoon from south west,
sounds like an old witch practising her craft,
Odd thoughts in persistence,
like why the placenta died, why was I born undressed,
Old trees enchant, my heart is pitched in my chest, mind rolling like a crankshaft
Sooner than later non existant,
This body shall incant the magical jest,
And as the chain continues, be embedded in this earth raft.
© nyangirojoe
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