joseph orutwa - The Black

An effigy, a scarecrow
crows as it scares the crows
shaking, dancing the tunes of the winds

The windmills
wheels, sailing on the very smiling hills
whispering the very songs as it grinds

The husks
brown, a transition from natures offering for the tasks
They are the very fruits of the fields

The hoe
lying covered on mud in a row
footsteps schetching foot steps on paths

A man
a mans wife on a knife
a wifes sons with daughters

All black, all in Africa.

joseph orutwa

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-black-7/