Could we have known that a better future was possible and yet refuse its arrival?
Were we the ones who chose this draught that suffocates us all or were we cursed to herald its presence?
Aduke,
I know that we will never know the rain,
not like we used to.
In the times when mafuta ghafi overflowed the wells of its caging
Nor the streams, where zealous fishes once swam in careless freedom
We know only what has come to us.
And as we hope for jua
it seems as twilight approaches,
never to come
