Midnight letters



Dear Tichala
The night aren’t warm anymore
There’s autumn chill outside
I’m all alone here thinking about
The days when the sun refuses to shut down darkness
And I’m grateful for every ray of light that seeped in
I’m still trying to find the right words
To tell you my dream of peace
Words must not fail me, it must’nt.

I dream of a tribe where grief
Do not wear the faces of the children
Where women’s smiles do not end
A place of comfort
Where girls look into the mirror
And see no scar of rancid memory
A place where sorrow flattens
With the growth of years
Is that too much to dream of?



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