Poetry

Bellows of dust

Photo credit: The East African

Photo credit: The East African

So we walk the town

And streets of Kampala

Innocent and hopeful

But strong

Hoping that the rain will grace the morning

But calmly like the sweetness of the morning dew.

I pull out my one and only pair of black shoes left

To grace the diplomatic look I have

Of tie on long sleeve and trouser

And brown envelopes to carry around town

Did I mention that I’m a job hawker

Walking from street to street in search for job!?

So we walk and walk the whole of town

And grace the streets of Kampala

Innocent and Hopeful

But strong

Hoping that the rain will grace the morning

But calmly like the sweetness of the morning dew

Our shoes wear out in desperation

As they search and persist to find our diplomatic destiny

The soles bow to one side as they breath in and out

In the heat and cold of day

But at the overhead sunshine, they issue bellows of dust

As there is no more morning dew to tame the dust.

So we walk and walk as the sun grills us in unison

We sweat salt as and breath in the days dust

As our shoes exchange dust as well for oxygen

A dusty long sleeve with tie and trouser we attain

But we keep hoping not forgetting

That our hopeful shoes are issuing bellows of dust.

Strong and hopeful we remain amidst the bellows of dust

Hoping that one day we will get a breakthrough.

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