Nkatha

Nkatha, brow furrowed, a storm in her head,

Thoughts like dark clouds, a heavy heart dread.

"This job," she whispers, a sigh in the air,

"Is it a burden, a life I can't bear?"

Each day a battle, a spirit subdued,

A monotonous grind, misunderstood.

"Is this all there is?" a question so deep,

A yearning for purpose, a promise to keep.

The drudgery beckons, a soul-sucking tide,

"Like hell's chained prisoner, nowhere to hide."

But Nkatha's a fire, though embers may dim,

A spirit that's yearning, a strength yet to win.