When
Nyinjey left town
The
sun did not show up for three days,
Rain went on beating the resilient leaves
Fog
intercoursed with everything on its path,
It
sneaked through the cracked windowpanes,
Germinating
moulds on our winter shoes.
Days
are like nights long hours to drudge,
The
pain in my right ear has moved up
Four
fingers closer to the crown of my head,
The
throbbing is like two bulls fighting
On
a sandy river bank, their hooves
Splashing wet sands in ten directions.
Hordes
of earwigs are gnawing me from inside.
And
I thought of the Big Apple, its lights,
The
sunless, smelly subway trains always showing up
On
time to gobble up masses of lonely souls,
Worry-soaked
and desperate to reach their destinations.
Here
is a mosquito trying to land on my
Left
foot which hasn’t touched water for a week.
A
dog barks in the distance as if
One
hundred tiny bones are stuck in its throat.
The
kitchen fan whirs on spewing out
Stale
air laced with germs from my hysteric coughing.
On
a night such as this
What
do I hope?
What
does he hope?
What
do we hope?
Nothing.
Anything. Everything.
Ah, a passport with a majestic eagle on it!
A
hassle-free travel at the airport.
A
little more money.
A
little more comfort.
May
all of these add up to something
Like
a tunnel built by a million ants,
Leading
to light and freedom.
My
eyeballs pop out of their sockets
Roll
across this page,
Soak
up the black ink and
Rush
back into their holes –
Ah,
visionless eyes, such bliss.
When
Nyinjey left town
All
the brown dogs at the LTWA
Kept
fast and a vow of silence for a day,
Even
the bull in our village with
Its
balls hanging down like icicles in a cave
Refused
a banana I gave him,
It
went on regurgitating the garbage
It
gobbled up in the morning.
When
Nyinjey left town
The
clock sighed,
As
the Symphony No. 6 in B minor
Trickled through cracks of the wet walls.
(Note: This is part of a long poem.)
