Under
African
skies
some say it’s the ancestors
weighing us down,
pressing us in,
making our hearts pound
like African drums.

Under African
skies
others blame the liquid air;
thick, oppressive atmosphere
filling every recess,
ever-expanding till we lose borders.

Under
African skies
perhaps it’s the sun
as she seductively caresses the morning,
then blasts the trusting day
with scorching heat
leaving nothing but cinders and soot.

Under African skies
most likely it’s the rain
who throws the first gauntleted drop
to the ground with fury,
pelting the earth relentlessly
with fevered rage.

Whatever the cause
we are those who walk with laboured souls
under the heavy hand of sin
rashly looking for redemption
under
African skies.

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DAY EIGHT: write a poem that relies on repetition. It can be repetition of a phrase, or just a word.

 

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