On a summer’s day, smouldering intensely
like a forest fire
you returned.
On our seashore, the baby turtles
had shrivelled within their shells.
Even the waves were listless,
losing their serenity.
Dead fish stank, washed ashore.
Not a sound from the crows.
On the stone hearth, the water
was simmering.
You entered my bath-shed
fenced off with palm-leaf matting
and removed your clothes.
I saw bruises all over your body,
your testicles hugely swollen
like the summer’s bitter cucumbers.
Shocked, I poured the hot water over you.
You eyes filled with tears
as you took hold of my hands
which could not fend off
the blows you once rained on me.
The ethnic war continues,
crossing all boundaries.
On that day, though, it raged
like an unquenchable forest fire.