That’s the third,”

He shakes his tired head,

The bald in his balding head…..

The bald in the balding forest…..,

“Just like the hairs on my head were,

When I was your age,

So were the trees in this forest.”

His glance directed toward the distant nothingness,

He makes disgruntled noise,

He slowly, as if aware of his company, comes to,

Then with a voice that sounds like coming from a distance,

He says,

“It was scary inside there,” something like a smile registers on his face,

Just in a flash,

“The government people, they come,

He seem to loose his voice,

The menacing sun, undeterred pours its hatred,

He wipes his brow,

One of his company gives him water in a bottle,

His bony, wrinkled hands reach it as if they have been forced to.

After a sip, “those ungrateful bastards, they take money,

And leave the trees as they fall, Inhuman………”

He collapses,

In panic,

His company lifts his lifeless creaky bones to a makeshift shade,

“Plant the trees, make them grow” his pleading eyes closed,

Maybe for eternity,

They looked at the lifeless body,

Empty as the vast that lay.

By Musungu W. Okach

                             ©2012 poetry