Where hopes finally crawl,
The waters are living,
bloodied by bleeding leech.
Sinking sands,other grounds
Bruise the stones, on the heart.
Adorn, the fungi infects the stems looking into the future.
Lamb rebel against,
scissors of the throat’s scripts.
[Ngima machiek ma wan go
Chalo gi pot yath malwar
Chalo gi oboke matop
The short life that we have,
Like a falling leaves of a tree
That which rots and decays
The leaves shed their tongues
Glory are the veins that feeds the humors unsung.
Shades peel the casks,
Where dhows break their keel, floats the racks
Noose hang, and knots slowly drops.
Heavy are the lowered anchors far from the berth.
The last roes, raft neither.
The yoke burden, onslaught an ox on the fallow,
Can lambs sly a fox clothes?
Wolves marry wild-not broth?
That which erects, weeps and seed and dies out.
Walls who write, and weep and barren, shall crowd?
The pebbles boil war,
fury when they claw tooth with chariots.
Hecklers spur, justice.
A sycamore breathes, warm mist.
Samsonite rape of the locks
Field solicit where seed soak
Roots have bitter Job’s feet
At the plot of agony,
conflicts the author and the pen.
Gulf drifts, moonstone thrives.
The idiom but bread crusts
Touch on the lamenting keys, bars par drifts.