Zanzibar...Transitioning

There...
tucked under the sunlight
where manacles of slaves
sang melancholy melodies

There...
the sun
did not keep its distance
its eyes; window cracks
in rotting buildings
and eroding market squares

There...
the smell of the sea
spoke of speedy sustenance
for the starving...

The covered heads of women wandering
indicative
of a different vision
of how the Indian ocean rolled

The smiles of men
weak
with the confusion
that came
with conformity.

There...
the stories of bloodshed
assembled
for sale
like crimson rugs
for tourists' feets
to trample on...

How they all arrived...
What they made of the experience
& all that's left of it...