EMMANUEL RWOTNGEYO ABWOLA

 ‌ Theme: A place I call home ‌Category: Poetry  THE SONG WITH LIMBS by Sekabira Owen   There is, for me, no home  No place, not one of known foam  There is no bed, not even a tree  Under which I can be truly free.   There is but a song,  Not just a tune, but a call so strong.  The song that nursed my ears at my mother's breast.  When mother left, this song was all I could trust.  Slowly, it's feet walked me from my despair  Shutting the door of pain behind me  In it's open arms I was caressed, my mind annexed  This song, whose words are inscribed to my soul,  held my hand all through,  even as I faced my most terrifying foe.  So there is, for me, no place  There's only a song  but when played  I'm carried away to the place I find peace  The song with limbs,  is my only home. Mike Owens Quinton

 ‎"Where My Silence Sings" ‎By Emmanuel Rwotngeyo Abwola ‎_Uganda ‎Theme: A Place I call Home ‎There is a place where dawn does not arrive, ‎It awakens like a breath remembered, ‎where roosters do not crow, they recite  ‎ancestral verses over mist-stained soil. ‎ ‎A place where wind walks barefoot, ‎threading lullabies through mango groves, ‎and time forgets its ticking tongue ‎to listen to the language of trees. ‎ ‎Here, the sky folds itself into a basin, ‎blue as the memory of rain on tin roofs, ‎and clouds, like gossiping aunties, ‎gather at dusk with stories still wet in their mouths. ‎ ‎Children chase echoes more than they chase each other, ‎and laughter is currency spent freely, ‎under clay-brushed houses, half asleep in the sun, ‎with doorways that creak like aging violins. ‎ ‎This is no paradise  ‎The ground cracks in hunger sometimes, ‎the moon forgets her curfew, ‎and grief comes dres sed as dust, uninvited. ‎