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Posted by on in Poetry
It is a rainy evening in Nairobi,Long lines at the bus stop,Muddy, exhausted and hurrying feet,She is almost there. Feet in sodden socks and sharp toed boots,Are rushing to a rendezvous,Looking for an umbrella with a company logo on it,He crosses the puddled road. Lips parted in hallo say, “At Last”,A welcome embrace lingers much too long,While muddy exhausted feet seek out,Sodden socks in sharp toed boots. The hours in traffic are more than long,In the limited space of the noisy bus,The heat from the engine is eclipsed,By feet in sodden socks placed perilously close to muddy and exhausted feet. In the warmth of a cramped flat in Eastlands,A door is hastily locked,While crowds below try to clean off their feet,Sodden socks are trapped between muddy exhausted feet. As the Nairobi rain clears in the night sky,Sodden and muddy clothes are thrown in the basket,A storm the likes of which Nairobi...
©Amare Poeta 2013
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Tagged in: love rain
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Posted by on in Spoken Word

©AmarePoeta 2012
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Posted by on in Poetry
I street Sweeper, I could you tell you my dreams! While I sweep, sweep clean all the alleys and bins, When I sing, sing songs of the cars and the clothes, That maybe one day, would give me a face and a name.   I street sweeper, I move, move because I am invisible, I know, know because I have no voice, I am allowed to see, see because I am blind, This is why I am trusted with the secrets of this city.   I street sweeper, Have a kanga for the naked and mad, Pick up the wrappers and packs, Of a population of people who have no time for people, Who are without face, without name!   I street sweeper, Take whatever scraps remain, Make a home of whatever is strong, And a meal at the brink of rot, A song of the city dwellers.   I street...
©AmarePoeta 2014
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Tagged in: home street urban women
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