Saturday, 12 October 2013

Moon-things or (for Vivian)

Two seeds in a pod may not be friends
for one may sit rotten to alter the other
yet I have known you as a seed, a-twin.

We have lain on a bench on the beach
quizzing the euphony of the ocean;
listening to Brahms as waves clasp
we shared giggling splashes of water,
our breaths travel, they ride the shores.

As night falls deepens our talks
Moon-things littered our mind
We ignore time departing

With back against the wind, sea splashes,
salt and sand into our hair,
I feel you around me. Nerves sleep.

What is it to become the breath of rainfall
and horse one’s hooves against derelict roofs
against the tarred roads where all are gone

So that the drops and splashes become life
on drooping leaves and worn-down trees
the glitter of the droplets against sunlight

In July; when diamond comes as shiny puddles
where hope foretells harvest in coming seasons
then the whistling of men journey with rainfall

What is the sound of the wind when happy
That keeps forlorn stuttering as desert storms
Keeping the land spare of intended dwellers

But you my friend have sorted your dreams
Into raincoats, umbrellas and transitory shelters
You take a mouthful of air and live as a maker. 

My silences walk into the waters seeking peace;
I was seeing nothing
your voice sprang up in chimes of even tone
ignoring the distance my eyes walked
It is neither night nor morning, evening is off
the time of the day in Labadi beach
when Accra swears on wet bikinis and boxers
and in some cases nude bosoms and buttocks.

Flying sands cling to roast fish and chips
And as waiting tourists
You and I munch together like we’re home
Breaking oaths of borders and distances. 

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