Society poem:Sounds of Drums

Soiled plain dresses billow in the wind,Whiffs of sweat a welcome note,The drums go on to echo in the hills

Thursday, September 20, 2012
rwandan drummers.

Soiled plain dresses billow in the wind,Whiffs of sweat a welcome note,The drums go on to echo in the hillsThe dark suddenly comfortableHe couldn’t hear the noiseShe couldn’t see the madness‘Give me that rhythm,’ I mumble to myself‘Throw it; heave it  my way’‘Puncturing my hips’‘Freeing me’ I spin for him Feeding him the music on a platterI feel him slip his hand in mineThe ground a myth I am accustomed toWe rush to our escapeFlying a painful flightWith stones and thorned bushes We disappear into our realmGrey and black, our shadeI still believe in your raysYour senses, my adopted pathSoaking in the sights, you live for meAnd I, swimming in the sounds of life,We somehow mold our own mazeDeep into the night, we fleeI choose not to think; the fear alive in my depthsUntil I hear your ragged breathYou could be a pauper, a social outcastI couldn’t care less How do I let you know?You are the author of my joyThe sounds reverberate through the valleyI stop and swing free in the windImagining the sky is watching meThe stars cheering me onI feel his eyes drilling holes in meA smile breaks free. I know he is enjoying the sightThat was my last night in the sounds of drumsThe sounds of my childhood, the symbol of my homeWe run off into the night, in search of acceptanceHoping our grey and black would burst into a rainbowA treasure we never attainedBut a truth we have always believed for each other