Me

.

This week’s poem must speak for itself, as I am lost for words. Sometimes there is just too much to say, too much to express, too many facets. Sometimes a few words must point the direction, and the reader must do the rest.

.

A shriveled seed

Soaked in water,

Sprouting

.

Traveling a map,

At the edge,

Life

.

Things never believed in

Made real,

You.

.

Kampala, 2019

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