Brewed in a pot

Pearl Mugala

The womb, like a pot,

Brews many liquors -

Liquors and noisome poisons:

Fascinating brews and eye-shutting options,

Savouring of death, or replete with exuberance,

But dawn eases slowly into night.


Brewed in the hidden core of the soul,

Darkness is the child of humanity.

Birth gives the delusion of the beauty of child,

But darkness lurks in the heart of each bundle.

It slithers in without alarm,

Feeds on the soul and clouds the heart,

Takes over with firm grip,

And lashes out at once with force;

Leaving the child an empty shell of sinister murk.


Darkness feeds darkness.

We all end up as the darkness -

Alone and unwanted,

Until the cord is severed...