By: Andrea Myinga

An appetite won at noon
Lost on facing a table
The one entrusted to bless
Make it bitter and long

It absorbed aroma
Killed stories going on
Stories of pallbearer and I
About the best casket
Has to match colours of heaven

Hey heaven! hears a harpist
Playing from a corner in a hall
His talent tangible in our ears
But there’s no stage inviting audience
It’s hard to dance from one’s chair

But who to dance someone’s song
Enough pit holes have been dug
Each one dug his own until fits
A call to stand on top of the Eiffel
See and count much more are dug

Though counting is not an option
For our chef listed kinds of food
But numbers were not in the diet
Seeing us unfit breaking them
Good for a thing but fasting.

##

Andrea Myinga writes from Tanzania. His poems have been published by The Writers Space Africa, Kalahari Review, Literary Yard, Allpoetry, Hello Poetry, Spillwords Press, Power Poetry, Ibua Journal and The Griots of Ubuntu, an anthology. Some of his poems appear designed on graphics in his Facebook account running by the name Andrea Myinga. Professionally holds a Bachelor’s degree in Philosophy and a Diploma in Religious Studies from the Spiritan Missionary Seminary, Arusha-Tanzania, an affiliate to the Catholic University of Eastern Africa (CUEA) Nairobi-Kenya.