Seas upon seas of anguished faces –
The San mother, worn and weather-beaten
Condemned to a corner of the barren desert
Hunting an elusive breakfast among the rocks

A cruel hand clutches at my heart –
And I wake to watch the pain on other faces
The load so heavy on weary shoulders

All those faces of untold grief –
Somalia –
The desert stretching wide and everlasting
Wide as the emptiness in their broken hearts

Millions and millions of tear-stained faces –
Ken Sarowiwa imprisoned in his cell
Condemned to die at the tyrant’s feet

All the weeping faces of my land
Why is it that they feel not the temptation –
I feel, at unguarded moments
To cease all effort, to stop straining

Just to lie down, a part of the flow
to become a grain of sand
in the landslide.
And slide gently into the darkness

All that, and more, that I may merely belong . . .
O, the loneliness, the depth of my anguish.