Poem by Byamugisha Maxwell

MOUTH OF THE WORLD

The world has mouths it doesn’t feed
Wide open, aching with dust
It sings in tongues of bitter needs
Yet bites the hand it dares to trust

It waits where morning does not rise
In homes where pots hang cold and dry
It stares through until, hollow’s eyes
Watch the bread go walking by

No fire warms a starving soul
Harvest that fills a broken land
The belly is a begging bowl
Held out of time with trembling hands

But hunger is not fate alone

It’s a choice, a wound we sow
The earth is rich, the seed is grown
And still we turn and let it grow