Author: Charlotte Mande Ilunga, Loss, Nature, Poetry


Every part of my garden is a lyric

Under the shade of tall trees

Thorny cactus form the edges

The dark soil hides the relic

Crooked cracks lodge an army of bees

Its constant renewal and healing balm are worthy than wages


Little bird sings

Welcome to my world

Autumn leaves fall

Roll on a colorful carpet

The wind isn’t cold

It is Fall

The insects drum a trump


Little bird sings

Listen to the bruised barks and chopped trunks

Denounce it in melancholic melody

Dust and stones have replaced the green

Uprooted from its natural banks

Who could play a rhapsody?

The change can be seen.


Little bird sings

Hypnotic Winter call in a rusty voice

In Spring, I blossom

No more garments, my eyes cry

Frosted lawn offer a haunted peace

Destruction and devastation rise from the bosom

Beautiful Summers are now sting dry

Little bird sings.


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