Where the Sand is Red…

Where the tree branches are wide

Enough for men to take naps

where animals make their home

where strangers are no longer strangers and

Wanderers wander no more

We screw up our faces seeing strangers

Two moons back

A young lady visited the neighborhood

Luring lads and soiling their innocence

men trail after her into the mysteries of the night

And erasing their memories of home

People talk, people always talk

“I heard she’s also from the other side of the great ocean”

They said of a new lady in town

“No, she entices other women’s men too”, they continued

They care less if the life of one they know

could not define the thousands they know not.

No one from the other side of the ocean is same

Even before she passes

Disgust and anger await her

Fingers point, tongues wag, and eyes stare

“She’s another destruction lurking in the dark”

No one wants to know her for her own self

But when no one is watching or prying

She prays to the One above to bless her hustle

And even then,

None sees her play with the little children

But for an old woman leaning on her bent staff

Watching with wise dreamy eyes

Waving her gnarly long fingers

As the stranger trudges tirelessly

Her eyes betraying vain hope for acceptance.

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