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THE COMFORT OF AN AFRICAN SLEEP
The cry of mothers keep piercing my ears;
The regular chants of the mosquitoes for years.
Natures’ call for procreation
Has transformed damsels into Amazons;
Sharp short sabers and buzzing wings they bear.
A whiff of darkness summons them to the theatre;
After laying in ambush all day long away in meters,
They launch an attack on my dark skin with their proboscis;
I fighting back with slings of unconscious slaps,
Taking cover under the shield of my wrapper.
The crow of jungle roosters woke me at dawn,
Then it dawned on me that I have been in the wars;
I stood up and looked around for the spoils,
I found none; only the wounds of the fight I saw.
© official_AJ5
The regular chants of the mosquitoes for years.
Natures’ call for procreation
Has transformed damsels into Amazons;
Sharp short sabers and buzzing wings they bear.
A whiff of darkness summons them to the theatre;
After laying in ambush all day long away in meters,
They launch an attack on my dark skin with their proboscis;
I fighting back with slings of unconscious slaps,
Taking cover under the shield of my wrapper.
The crow of jungle roosters woke me at dawn,
Then it dawned on me that I have been in the wars;
I stood up and looked around for the spoils,
I found none; only the wounds of the fight I saw.
© official_AJ5
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