Passion

Cry my beloved son 
Let them fall on thy dry skin 
as desert rains buss the arid land, 
If they continue to shed- shall they 
not be adjourned, 
Feel their warmth on thy cheeks and 
that shall untangle thy harden soul. 
 
Cry my beloved son 
Let them stream as the Victoria fall as they 
seek their path to the Zambezi river, 
If thy voice breaks out- let it 
make a thunderous roar as waterfalls, 
Let it all out – till thy voice becomes 
hoarse and thy lips quiver. 
 
Cry my beloved son 
When your eyes weep no more 
let thy soul lone to be free, 
Lie over thy back and start all over again 
‘cause thy pain shall ne’er cease, 
Cry for thy eyes, for they shall ne'er 
see the need to tear again.