Shem Onderi
Poor stomach, ever hollow,
a boundless space, though small, I swallow.
Too small, it seems, to hold the feast
that fuels my days, a hungry beast.
You never swell in bellies tight,
yet hunger’s rumble claims its right,
a rude demand, attention’s call,
demanding sustenance for all.
You wake me with your gnawing need,
then fullness brings a dizzying creed.
An empty void, a weakened state,
a single drop can seal your fate.
But many starve to see you fed,
a constant battle in my head.
Oh, stomach, change your greedy ways,
learn silence, patience, measured days.
Endure long hours without a bite,
accept small portions, day or night,
or nothing at all. The world outside
offers little, nowhere to hide.
The rains have failed, the floods have come,
the storehouse bare, the salary numb.
Just tainted water, all around,
while hollow echoes deeply resound.
I yearn to fill you, ease your pain,
but hours later, hunger’s reign
returns with force. If you were seen,
I’d shrink your size, make you more lean,
zip up the space, restrain your greed,
slow down the pace at which you feed.
Perhaps a tear, a hidden leak?
Tell me, and I will mend the break.
I’d beg your maker, if I could,
to change your place, misunderstood.
Your current spot, a primal claim,
puts you first, in life’s harsh game.
Speak out your woes, your discontent,
or must you voice it, excrement?
Favor my labor, take the small,
so other needs may rise and call.
You are the gateway, transformation’s key,
from food to energy, eternally.
Hence, emptiness, your constant plight,
never rich, but always bright
with the promise of sustenance to come.