Gradually, I'm watching
It recede, just like theHairline of modern gospel,
Look! the house of these
Words is collapsing,
Like a foundation made
With the bricks of doom,
And I hate to tell you all
That yesterday, just yesterday,
My mind fell and my pot of
Inspiration broke,
Along with the cranium of
My songs,
Do pick the shards,
You all carry the shards in
Your ears and in your deafening
Silence,
And those parching for thy star
Are already outside, drinking from
The faucet of a stinking moon,
The world is unfair like the judgment
Of ten black elders.
Etim Emmanuel Uwe
