Death in the Dawn by Wole Soyinka

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Traveller, you must set out

At dawn. And wipe your feet upon

The dog-nose wetness of the earth.

Let sunrise quench your lamps. And watch

Faint brush pricklings in the sky light

Cottoned feet to break the early earthworm

On the hoe. Now shadows stretch with sap

Not twilight’s death and sad prostration.

This soft kindling, soft receding breeds

Racing joys and apprehensions for

A naked day. Burdened hulks retract,

Stoop to the mist in faceless throng

To wake the silent markets – swift, mute

Processions on grey byways… On this

Counterpane, it was –

Sudden winter at the death

Of dawn’s lone trumpeter.Cascades

Of white feather-flakes… but it proved

A futile rite. Propitiation sped

Grimly on, before.

The right foot for joy, the left, dread

And the mother prayed, Child

May you never walk

When the road waits, famished.

Traveller, you must set forth

At dawn.

I promise marvels of the holy hour

Presages as the white cock’s flapped

Perverse impalement – as who would dare

The wrathful wings of man’s Progression…

But such another wraith! Brother,

Silenced in the startled hug of

Your invention – is this mocked grimace

This closed contortion – I?