His Stare

I still remember his stare,cold brown pupils dim with fatigue. His retina crimson white polluted by anger,a patch of daily tears down his cheeks meander.

Large gulps of saliva down his galet ,his lips cracked by dryness “letha le-phone!!” ,he demands 

His stare begs…

“Awungizwa..” He dips his slender palm into his pocket,draws out a sharpened rod.

But his stare waves a white flag,his ciliary muscles slacks,his voice cracks.

he blinks,his stare is replaced by tears.