‘someday for sure, the child of night’s cry shall cease.
but not tonight
she polished her salaried lie until it shone
and weaved it into a shawl and wore it:
she could do nothing about what
she could do nothing about’
Sometimes, I have pulled over the most egregious offenders of our common humanity, with nothing to flash in their face beyond the authorisation of a human outrage. But the procovations are too many… this image is from the road to Abakiliki.
In another sense, we are donkeys all, who do not dare pray for an end to our sufferings because we realise that only death awaits at that end.
The excerpt is from the poem, A Requiem for Rage, in the volume, The Final Testament of a Minor God.