POETIC JUSTICE 14 By MshinaramWarigon Ahrey


When the day yawns
At an early dawn
Morning mists still
Hanging over the hill
Like a lazy ribbon from the harbour
Curling around to curry a favour
A man awakes to delve in his labour

From the one moment
Of the shrill crow of the cock
His face lined, back bent
A tedious day unlock
He travels miles and miles
Glistening with sweats of his brows
Pushing his truck, fraught with tired smiles
His weatherbeaten face allows

Water, the food bringer
As Mai Ruwa toils
On a slow pace he can’t linger
The sun boils
And whips his back
His barrow creeps from creek
To the river bank
Back to the borehole
And swathe itself with no leak
Until all gallons are sold

In the hue light of the evening
When strange shadows steal the show
He comes home whistling
With happy pockets worth the chore
(c)Warigon 2017


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