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Turbulent Waters

Once the sea took our land somewhere,
Where Mami Water, 
between jagged reefs,
dances the forbidden dance
And crabs, with pincers for scalpels,  
Scuttle over scattered shells, to
Perform postmortem on drowned spirits.

I have a fleeting memory
Of a tribe that once stood tall,
Now the waves wash ashore,
Sweeping away memories, people and all.

My nights are haunted by,
Dark dreams,
Women wailing for warriors lost at sea,
the restlessness of ancestors with leaky graves.

We had sojourned to faraway lands
To escape our nightmares,  
Severe and diverse,
‘twas an attempt to escape our shadows
But the ghosts would not rest.

The rainbow held no promise
Of release from the turbulent waters
So we've come back home,
The pieces of our broken heart,
So small,
They passed through the eye of a needle.

The hungry sea,
It fed on our people;

Tides are rising 
And, the sea, it will be back for seconds... 

*****12th May 2004*****

For the people of Keta and all who experienced the wrath of the Sea

 

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I contemplated
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On why
Light retracts different, in your eyes,
Like rainbows randomly ricocheting
Off my intangible thoughts,
Spellbinding...

On why,
Words sound different, on your lips,
How you laugh,
How the sounds take a path,
Across infinite dreams,
Into all my incarnations,
Into all my iterations,
Into all...

Tonight,
I concluded
You are a figment
of my imagination,
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For
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Then condemned me
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God is My Barber

The sickness that made the Vulture bald
would have killed the Crow.

It is because
the gods are petty
and would not be questioned
about who they show favor to,
That Crows live to,
Squawk hysterically
At Vultures' misfortune.

We have come to understand, that,
when a petty god is your barber,
Crows, who can't afford a razor,
with their benevolent destinies,
will punctuate our precious peace
with their shameless snickering.

but
the Vulture
neither
pays any mind
nor
wages a war of words
with mockers and scoffers;
for the cure for baldness
is not found in the laughter of Crows...

*****April 4, 2017*****

http://morganes-photographe.deviantart.com/
My Second poem about Vultures. I really need to stop this...😂😂😂

The Vulture

In times of famine,
The Vulture does not eat grass.
When Leopards are lean
because antelopes nowhere to be seen
The Vulture sits and watches,
Waiting...

Those who mocked his baldness
Will do well to remember
None has seen the Vulture's corpse
And he is secure in the knowledge that none will.

So,
when it rains
And they mock him
For having no nest still,
He holds his peace,
Watching...
For the Vulture, he's a patient animal.

The Vulture is not vindictive,
Those who mocked will die,
Those who didn't will die,
It matters not.
For when carcasses lay ripe
The Vulture does not ask
If his feast was once friend or foe

*****February 1, 2016*****