THE FACE OF HUNGER Oswald Mbuyiseni Mtshali,

I counted ribs on his concertina chest

bones protruding as if chiselled 

by a sculptor's hand of famine.

He looked with glazed pupils 

seeing only a bun on some sky high shelf.

The skin was pale and taut 

like a glove on a doctor's hand.

His tongue darted in and out 

like a chameleon's 

snatching a confetti of flies.

O! child,

your stomach is a den of lions

roaring day and night.