A hush lies heavy on the land,
as if the world forgets to breathe.
No rustling leaves,no shifting sand,
just stillness draped beneath.
The sky wears grey like warning skin,
clouds swollen,tight with rage.
The air is thick with something thin-
a calm that traps the cage.
......
Routes of jagged creation line this journeyꓽ
Slopes of jealous mountains, impatient-running waters
Crestfallen deserts, hungry savannahs, bemoaning wildernesses . . . .
The sun jeers at you with terrible rays,
The silt of the desert dunes blister your feet,
Your pupils dart about recklessly and pick on those prehistoric beasts,
Jackals howl at you . . . .
You thirst
......
Leveling up on serpentine curves —
Dust-coated and desiccated — crossroads:
Inebriated with floods, one length;
Darkened with fumes of a puking mountain,
The other stretch;
Gale-powdered face of one breath stares at the
Rumbling belly of the fourth.
Within this rattling of the metals above
And the heavenly grumbles, the grey void
The waterholes, frayed, loosened, dispatched . . .
Now, silences lose their grips.
It rains and there’s deep slumber
Tents’ pegs are mocked by watermud, recasting
Shadows of the primitive nights on days’ weakened rays
Silences, except for the rhythm known when it rains.
......
Clutching at this eleventh hour
Cries becloud the confused, ailing air;
Genuflections are common without songs of praise,
The tongue having been glued to the palate . . . .
Dis-virgining verdant forests’ footpaths,
The evenings aglow with billowing tongues of
Fire shimmering at the foot of the
Hombori.
......
Clutching at this eleventh hour
Cries becloud the confused, ailing air;
Genuflections are common without songs of praise,
The tongue having been glued to the palate . . . .
Dis-virgining verdant forests’ footpaths,
The evenings aglow with billowing tongues of
Fire shimmering at the foot of the
Hombori.
......
A hush lies heavy on the land,
as if the world forgets to breathe.
No rustling leaves,no shifting sand,
just stillness draped beneath.
The sky wears grey like warning skin,
clouds swollen,tight with rage.
The air is thick with something thin-
a calm that traps the cage.
......
Routes of jagged creation line this journeyꓽ
Slopes of jealous mountains, impatient-running waters
Crestfallen deserts, hungry savannahs, bemoaning wildernesses . . . .
The sun jeers at you with terrible rays,
The silt of the desert dunes blister your feet,
Your pupils dart about recklessly and pick on those prehistoric beasts,
Jackals howl at you . . . .
You thirst
......
Written in the Book of Rain,
with a specimen of clouds,
a common quill feather
whiter than the teeth of
voyaging sharks,
fluttering from the seventh chamber,
scribbles this short prophecyꓽ
IT SHALL RAIN.
And when it rains,
......
Within this rattling of the metals above
And the heavenly grumbles, the grey void
The waterholes, frayed, loosened, dispatched . . .
Now, silences lose their grips.
It rains and there’s deep slumber
Tents’ pegs are mocked by watermud, recasting
Shadows of the primitive nights on days’ weakened rays
Silences, except for the rhythm known when it rains.
......