Shake

When the ink runs dry

My pen
is about to run dry
but my poem
still speaks
So many
I've just whispered
to the wind
hoping
the heavens might…
shake,
shake
There's a bit more ink
but the poem
is escaping
my grasp
shake,
shake
shake
shake
shake…
I guess the lesson
is to have two pens

A poem by Pemba Umoja