I think about the silence in this savannah
I let saliva soothe the pain.
I move ahead.
I think about the men with lips barricaded
because silence is a virtue that earns you a living
in exchange for the things that makes us human.
These men lay their anger on tables and burn incense at night
and smear subtle grins on their faces
when the sun rays break in like bandits.
This savannah is disturbed with silence from men
who cannot reprimand the pests snuggling the field.
Tomorrow could crown them lords of dunghills, they fear.
Tomorrow they could lean on these pests, they reckon.
Alas! These barricades shall remain
and the savannah will lose her savour.