in voices quivering with sadness

mothers lament at the graveyard

they are in mourning

they bury children

whose lives are cut short in war

they bury dreams

they bury hope

they bury promises

they bury the fragrance of childhood








When roosters crow at dawn

Urging us to rise and shine

Folks no longer

Hear this rallying cry


They are broken they are down.

The children are mere bones

Emaciated shrunken jaws

With stomachs distended


They die in their sleep faces cold

Faces contorted by the pangs of hunger

Their stories are untold


As the poet said:

When the tide rises against the poor

Their fate rests only on the lap of God



Somaliland by Dollin Holt





Drought descends
Gloomily on this patch
Of earth

Throats are parched
The rains have not come
The land is dry.

It is a cloudless sky
Vultures perch on carcasses
Wasting in the field

How the smell of death travels
Man and livestock
Lay prostrate in the fields

Man and Livestock
Succumb stoically
What is man after all?