Wednesday, 04:15:47 AM



Articles written by Hazel Fasaha Tobo

Waiting For Home

The air is stale here in the summer A wind of mosquitoes overwhelms the stillness, We are running from breathing because it bites Our blood is heaving at the tips of bite mountains forming on our skins

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And if he was President He’d take a million wives, Fly to Dubai and make rich friends He would be an absent leader and dab at events He would make the nation laugh and carry with him scandals that have been publicized He would be the kind of president that women protest when he speaks

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“It’s a lie; I know it’s a lie! He can’t die, he is too kind hearted to leave, too young to ascend to heaven, and he hasn’t even started pursuing his dreams. No! It’s a lie!” as I yell frantically to no one in particular.

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