No lightening
No nimbus clouds,
Just vultures gathering
In a desolate sky
On the trek to Dadaab,
Shrubs stripped of their leaves
Carcasses of goats
Cattles and sheep
In the lower Shabelle, lie
Bakool
Withers on the vine
And the seeds from her loin
In hunger, cry
But heaven's vault remains shut
From the breasts
Where milk once richly surged,
Three months old Amina
Died of thirst
And the mother was too weak to realize her loss
The horn thirsts, again
And death and all its friends
Patiently wait
Harrowing.
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