I remember you,

Not in prayer or in deed,

I just recall your word upon word,

As you moved your primeval lips,

Spitting the ghastly words

That will come to torment my adulthood.


I remember you,

Not that I want to,

But your wicked words have come to pass,

Each of them,

One word after the other,

An enactment of your ghostly nightmares.

That you put into words

Ringing my ears with your donkeys bray.


I remember you,

Even when I try to forget,

The sojourn in the dense canopy within the houses of our dead spirits,

Your voice booming above the chirping crickets,

Your voice ignoring the chatting monkeys,

And the sweet melodies of the birds,

Your strong corrugated feet piercing the silent shrubs,

As you rumbled on

The words that made no sense to me.

I remember that fateful night under the moon,

When the spirits came to take you for a walk,

How could I forget?

Your last hum as they quickly pulled at you,

Your struggle to remain immortal futile,

And your limbs limb,

You said above the chattering teeth muffled with fear,

“Fight for the forest before the bald grows on the virgin soils.”


Now that I remember,

I remember that I forgot,

I remember that I grew weak,

Week by week I fought in politics,

The sharing of the national cake,

And now as the rain falls,

It washes the virginity of the soils.

When the sun shines

It scotches the virgin green,

And when the wind blows,

It carries away the top layer of our virgin.

Leaving the soil a whore,

Unproductive whore.    




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