IF I MAY ACCESS MY GUARDIAN ANGEL
When the spirits of the dead wail as violently as dust storm,
The concerto of mortal tranquility is at stake—
From the rivers of Niger
To the brooks of Cherith;
From the coast of Rio de janeiro
To the hinterland of Syria;
From the desert of Sudan
To the walls of China;
From the cape of Nile
To the caves in Somalia;
From the palace in Buckingham
To the empires in Rome;
From the town of Nairobi
To the villages in Kangan;
From the springs of Arab
To the wilderness of Lalaland;
From the city of Boston
To the highways of Riyadh;
And every Waste Land on earth;
Contralto has turned bass…
What guardian angel are assigned to
Those that perish as frail as dust?
What edge is built around
Those that burn in the fiery furnace of Nebuchadnezzars?
What weapon do they wield on field to shield
Those unarmored lambs?
I hear musical tones
Of bullets and splinters
In howling harmony
With the crescendo
Of the wounded.
What form do they bear that guard as Angels?
What mask do they wear that kill as rebels?
What course do they chart;
What counsel do they heed;
What pleasure do they take
In treating Creator’s breath as toot?
What communion do they hold;
What vigil do they keep;
What banquet do they feast
That shed blood like pool of water?
What robe do they wear;
What horse do they ride;
What ocean do they wish to part
With their serpentine rod stinging the innocent?
If I may access my guardian angel,
I’ll ask him these questions
And plead that he guard me from—
Plain crash from hair craft
Six sick seeks!
I’ll tell him, Oh Celestial Guard!
If you thirst, don’t drink spirits;
If you hunger, don’t eat bhang-leaves,
For if you sleep or slumber,
I may perish as frail dust.
I’ll tell him to fortify himself with ethereal amour;
I dread these times
Where Angels may perish with those they guard;
I dread these times
Where mortals ascend to immortal places
To built their fort
With ruins from the rock of ages
Ajayi Angel-Simon 2013