The rain washed the coat of the wind,
dusted the nose of the mountain,
licked the blood off its peak,
and rinsed the fish oils across the tarmac.
Here the road that had left us behind
stopped and waited for us, asked us
where we had been
when they skinned the land.
Then the road, braving the rain,
slithered between the mountains,
leaving us to marvel and to muse
where the thin tarmac was leading us.
And we wondered where the rain had been,
this rain that left drops of dreams
in our palms to sow in the soil of our hearts.
Under the eaves of the sky we set
Our open minds and filled them
With the purity that fell from heaven.
About this poem
This poem, representing Malawi, is part of The Written World – our collaboration with BBC radio to broadcast a poem from every single nation competing in London 2012.