There is nothing stable about our old days
With a television uproar, a sea that kills
And rolls on as a child's eyes turn pearls
Suffering a sea-change as they run deep.
But the noise outside is just an uproar
That turns quiet like sea run out of moon.
A child is violated in an uproar of the veins.
The sea's writ runs largely in the sea bed.
As green bones ride tumult up and down
And sea waves take them down in crowds.
Eyes are unsaleable pearls after the uproar.
(A 5-year-old was raped and beaten for days before being rescued, police said on Friday)
Posted at 03:30 pm by adukuri