A Game Of Years
Peeping through my window lintel
by Emmanuel Ibuot
I ran after the fading star
That beeps his hands tentacled for my follow
To lands unknown, unscathed.
In shouting tremor, my eyes
On the oyster of years
Mining and refusing to mine
Till our game runs over the hills.
A game of years, unending cord
Forever beating men of wisdom
Without uncalling the worms of mind
To follow her curious shelves.
Nought will be the shame, but not again:
A game is pregnant with mine
A mine delivers her mind
A mind caresses the shameless word
The word a cord to accord
The seven cords of man and God.