There is an enemy confined on my left shoulder
My village people say so
In his presence, I sense absence
My absence, our absence
I know of cruelty and the brutality of men
The hollowness the enemy creates is none to compare
He causes darkness to all he touches
Absolute despair, Absolute sorrow
Forget me not, he whispers
So, he taps my shoulder with sickness
In rebellion, I prosper
I defeat sickness, but they are defeated by sickness
Then he strikes with accidents or some say happenstance
In a broken state, I am more adamant
And so, he snatches my loved ones, one after the other
Into the unknown, like an obsolete machine
Incomprehensive news of absence
Indigestible truth about life, It all withers away
The enemy on my left, my village people, say so
The memories of the fallen live on
A mockery of his victory
On my left shoulder, he has made home
And will only walk away when I am of the absentees
Unorthodox is the expression of loss; mindlessness is our reaction to loss
Read – Sweaters – A Poem by Esther Kinyua, Kenya
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