Poem by David Gill: Feud goes like this After the parents have gone to burn the houses of the parents below; and those below in turn have burnt the houses of those above who started the burning, the children of the mountains, who were hidden but saw, are shelled by the dawn from their pod of darkness and creep dry eyed to the ring of homely embers and start at the what half charred remains there are, a blacked stool, a cooking pot, some tins. And then the habitual silence all intervals, no cocks are crowing, goats all gone. With desolate eyes they stare across the valley as the long sealed trains of cloud slide past deporting their fathers and mothers... Poems from East Africa.
Posted on: Mon, 23 Jun 2014 08:15:04 +0000
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