Francesca Nwalozie

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Francesca Nwalozie
Saturday 9 April 2022


Save your tears for dew tomorrow

And your breath, sell an ounce for a sorrow

If tomorrow were reaped off its harvest,

Will fear and darkness have its crest?

If the moon were to meet with noon

Will the sun leave its cocoon?

We tremble not of fear but of weakness

Fighting lost battles of our own mirages

We sing ancient hymns of redemption

To console ourselves that the battle is won

/Put a throttle to the boulder,

And place a coin on each shoulder/

When the fires are out and the stench of war is no more

Then we shall sow our harvest back into tomorrow

And mend its ridges never to be narrow

But until then, we wake to live each day

And live in hopes for the next

Praying that the day never guts us alive or swallow what’s left of our pride. 


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