IN SUDAN

 

 

When the seed has withered--

the banks are dried out, dust

flowing like a river--

then children walk or lie about,

unable even to whimper.

 

 

When the sun refuses

to hide its face, and the moon

keeps her bucket upright

so that not a drop is given--

dogs, in their thirst, turn to blood.

 

 

The houses in the village turn

into powder; the wind

comes and blows them away.

The people are like smoke.

Their faces, grey, their eyes

staring at nothing:

 

 

At some distant point, beyond

the sun, beyond

                the moon.

 

 

When ghosts walk in their sleep--

night is no longer separated

from the days, which have

no number -- words cease

to give light to the blind.

 

           ------- W. Luther Jett

 

W. Luther Jett lives in Washington Grove, Maryland, and has published a
chapbook of poems and original graphics, "A Leather Dress Fur Mother".

 

 

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content © - W. Luther Jett

Music: © - Bismillah Khan

Image Source - www.uusc.org/darfur/photoessay2004_2.html