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In my rat whole I have coiled,
Having nothing but leaves to cover myself.
Eating from my stomach for all around me is dark.
Breathing my life out for I’m empty Feeling itches but dare not scratch
For the little I have may peel off.

Scared to yawn for I may starve to death
Air from above comes with no comfort
Why the need to rise?
I shall fold in my hole.
Heat from my stench makes me want to peek
But I fear for my eyes

Silence has been my words
Quietness my only noise
I find myself humming
For that is my anthem
My tongue is heavy
But no one seems interested
My rat hole, my podium.

All copyrights reserved Haymaker Β©2015

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Mchaymaker.com is the unique home of tales of African arts that seeks to expand the world’s view on it’s extraordinary nature.

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