Fast as hand of the clock may tick
Slow as limbs of the millipede may tread
Can a million muscles lift a parcel of earth?
Can a thousand throats empty the Mediterranean?
How long can a night last
That it may elude dawn?
How tall can okro plant grow
That it may deny its farmer a pluck?
My eyes have known long nights
Conscripting dawn into stillbirth;
I'm in one longer than daytime
And the okra in my garden has grown past my shoulders!
Let none listen to my story and laugh
For all metals owe the blacksmith a visit:
The tendrils of my yam seeds have called me to a tournament of height,
As the water in my cup dares to drown my limbs
Alas, the patient dog has lost count of the passing flies
As the means now justifies the end.
O, this land has eaten enough bones and flesh
And who knows when it'll be hungry again?
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