we charge through the skies of disillusion,
seeking the widening of eyes, we gaze at chaos,
speak to deadened hearts and ears stopped with
commerce. We drift around our region of clowns,
walking on air as dreams fly behind some eyes,
some forage among broken bodies, fractured minds
to find just ways retraced and new like beaten cloth.
and if they come again
will they come again?
and if they come again
will they dance this time?
will the new egunguns dance once more
resplendent in rich-glassed cloths?
will they be of their people’s needs,
rise to those needs, settle whirling rifts
salve, O, festering hearts?
will they say when they come
O my people, O my people, how to love you delicately?
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