 |
| South African CO2 Poem
He wrote a poem almost everyday. He had them stacked in the dark corner of the shack with its roof of plastic bags. Then one day, three days after his thirteenth birthday, he suddenly died. They dug a hole and put his limp body wrapped in white cloth inside the horrible grave. His mother used the poems to light the fire, to make the food. All his words became smoke, travelled high up in the sky, turning the earth into a warmer place. 26/2/2007 |
 |