MR POLITICIAN

It was laid in green
as he sat and read The London Times.

I passed by, I greeted him;
he answered with the sign,

'keep off, don't walk on the grass'.

The glasshouse he built
shone like a mirror in the sun.

I passed by, again, he greeted me
with eyes that searched my footsteps.

He built his house with glass
and feared I might throw stones.

Beneath his feet were blades of grass,
he watered with my blood.


THE STARS

When I was a child
I counted the stars,
like numbers on my thumb.

Yesterday is gone:
my fading eyes are still searching
skyscape for starlit tidings.

Soon,
I will be gone
but they will be here.

Another child
will search his stars
on night's pyres.

© 2004 Aminu Mahmud (a.k.a Obe Mata)