The Patriot, the Countryman: There’s Nothing Here
We leave the land to fallow
and carry dreams as currency in purse,
standing in queues that only rehearse deaths
We too will join the wander-boat
even if the voyage massages our testicles
Grains of sand rain from insults, masquerading as manna
and it feeds thorns
The future is an endangered ecosystem
that only makes promises
The voice of muezzin will only sketch fulfillment
but echoes of reality will be silences in a thousand ways
lives are skeletons whose significances are the epitaphs
existence is only paved by survival
We just live the numbers
We are the statistics
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© Kwabena Agyare Yeboah
Image: War Eye by Charles Tsevis