
I unconsciously chop the carrots My cat jumping on the counter Hoping I will have something for it But I stare deeply at the house The overgrown brown and green creepers Encaging the old brick walls I couldn’t even tell you of what color those walls were Maybe they were brown, or perhaps black I knew not and quite frankly I cared not In the daytime the place was okay In the nighttime? Well the tiny yellow bottle that holds my pills That knock me right out can tell you the story Outside a green stream flows, the stench of it unbearable I dare not look at its waters I swear something sinister lives there Or maybe it was my hallucination Induced by the sleeping pills I was always dosed on I have no idea why I even purchased the property Maybe it’s because it reminds me of myself Abandoned in my misery Well, maybe we can keep each other company As we fade out of existence to the world With nothing much to offer
Nah Hannah, is a Kenyan-born poet who often expresses her worldview through writing. She graduated from Kenyatta University with a bachelor’s degree but found her passion in poetry. She seeks to make an impact in the world through her writing.
Please share this to give it maximum distribution. Our contributors’ only pay is exposure.
If you would like to be part of The Chamber Magazine family, follow this link to the submissions guidelines. If you like more mainstream stories and poems with a rural setting and addressing rural themes, you may also want to check out Rural Fiction Magazine.