|
AMINU MAHMUD
"My heart whispers, Prometheus" (continued from previous page)
III
They burn the roofs
that shuts out the dark
to hurry the advent of hate;
then, a cry is heard,
a woman is crying
for her children are no more.
And within the labyrinth
of despoliation
kings and the kings' men
prefer grave-dug earth
to the ties of kinship.
The land mourns in silence.
Drained is the gentle stream
that once washed muted sands,
so my heart.
Teardrops have become the hour:
locusts blight the cornfields,
so my heart.
Boughs are plucked from the joint:
nest nestle on sprouted talons,
birds are but a pall over the sky.
Root sink into dirt:
crops drink the teardrops
for harvest to yield no promise.
IV
When mothers shed tears,
fathers drop the last red earth
into toe-dug graves
as undertakers return
to their funeral homes,
to await another round;
I will be here
to wipe the mother's tears
from their children eyes;
I will be there, too,
to comfort my grieving sisters
if you hearken to my whispers, Prometheus.
ƒ „
|
|
