The feeling was right for two days straight
The dark clouds had cleared,
The horizon signalled fertile lands waiting to be conquered.
The wazee, who had been captured and spake only curses quenched their thirst on the beer made from first hops harvested by virgin women
The sheep, the goat and fowl selected from those without blemish was their choice meat
The land was green with patches of deep brown soil interrupting the sequence here and there.
It wasn’t something too pronounced, but the former clothes, relieved and left torn by the roadside was an eye sore.
The shoes spoke of the long years of toiling hard without pay in the mines
Every house built in the former village lay desolate, ready to return to earth.
It was a new dawn,
Chin up, eyes focused
The mzee blesses and urges to walk on.
