BEHIND THE CASSAVA STALL
glazingly staring into oblivion,
the glazed windows to the soul.
now reduced to a lantern,
those eyes that once held hope.
this quiet, lifeless, idyll, ghost town
replaces ambitions with raw survival.
Ridicules world view and wears down
sanguine bright-eyed lads
To melancholic tunnel-visioned hags.
behind the cassava stall,
staring zombie-eyed into oblivion
is a once feisty spirit forced to conform.
Some dreams don’t matter.
They can be murdered or still-born
To give fighting chance to another.