Autumn was first seen from the
Lens of slumber,
Frozen on the lane of thoughts
For the living-dead.
...
The dark stars loom on frontiers,
Dewed and muggy, grey and sodden to the comfort
Of the lashes.
...
If I were God,
In ages past would I have dropped a lone
Cowrie in the middle of the sea.
...
Soft on the wings of the raven,
Loud on the beak of the dove -
The harmony of rain.
...
My roots hold sway
and burrow diligently through the
black bowels of a proud hemisphere whose
roots hold firmly to the sands of time.
...
Broken mirrors are sad, shattered and flung
So are the memories of the man who bathed in
Snake waters: ripples never stay the same after
Watery turbulence,
...
Africa,
I reconcile your genius with nostalgia,
perfervidity and relic lust;
...
Woman, you must rise at dawn and light up
your oil lamp, for here comes the chronicler,
who must not meet you and your babe in weak light.
...
Morning was patient with us, she and I,
Within earful white walls and solemn
gardens.
...
Drums for us, the wasted Masters
Catafalques for them, covetous Generals.
How far have they gone in wasting us,
...