No stars tonight,
Just the usual cricket chorus.
There is the smell of
Wood burning.

I think it is the smell of
Rwanda’s organs
Turning.

This is a country
Full of
Raw, organic
Existence.

Life that
Faces death
And revisits it
Everyday.

Yet is determined to
Defy the beast
With life.

In Rwanda,
We take cold showers.
The places where we gather indoors
Smell of sweat.
And humidity hangs with
The utterances that
Sound like running water.

Sometimes the water
Indoors doesn’t run
And the lights all go out,
So we dance and sing together.

When the whirring of
The sewing machines halt,
We strike up a human orchestra.

We let
Our hands,
Our feet,
The rhythm of our own organs
Keep the time.

Ends