Art Drain
I feel arrested,
my muscles in helpless rage
I wish to tear, a flood
but my shoulders won’t drop.
Just to rest.
De-stress.
It’s not my pride,
for which I have none but makings of
myself in tune with my
beat.
Rhythmic trance,
I cry for you take me.
Take me to where I can let a collapse
and just.
Be.
Natache Iilonga
21