From my spirit’s grey defeat,
From my pulse’s flagging beat,
From my hopes that turned to sand
Sifting through my close-clenched hand
From my own fault’s slavery
If I can sing, I still am free.
For with my singing I can make
A refugee for my spirit’s sake
A house of shining words, to be
My fragile immortality
BY SARA TSEDALE
THE ETHIOPIAN HERALD SUNDAY EDITION 25 FEBRUARY 2024
