Yesterday is a story of love, a story of war
Of my deep-seated affection for
And my battle with desires, Lord
Yesterday is when I used my pen
To write words, not hope
Yesterday is when my heart pumped blood, not love
When my feet trod roads, not dreams
Yesterday is the awakening of fresh coffee as it grazed my senses
And the romance of red wine as it kissed my lips
It is the red dress that caressed my body
The sassiness it gave my step and the swing it gave my hips
Yesterday is when my fingers interlocked with … Mine
And rested on my right thigh
The wind whispered to me sweet nothings
And I smiled – at something in the sweetness of nothing
Yesterday is my clock ticking backwards
To dark days and bright nights
To weakness, to regret and to pain
To strength, contentment and great gain
Yesterday is in my hand
I want to wrap it in a paper box then set it on fire and watch it burn …
Still, yesterday is where I close my eyes to find rest
At every turn
By Hauwa S. Machunga
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