In the early morning of Thursday,
Down the way to the down bush,
To fetch bamboo for Mah’s firewood,
He came across the untold and the unseen,
Just to speak the doubtable.
Few days after,
The community gathered,
Murmuring in their bellies,
Pointing accusing fingers here and there,
Blaming the grand-pa, aunt and uncle for witch craft;
Ignoring the happened,
Not knowing every one has got his/her own tern into the barber’s shop.
Things should have been the other way;
For these moments to be time enough.
But as my people say;
“Troubles are like chilli the add flavour to life.”
And what account shall I then give?
On what, madness?
Besides; what conclusion?
I could stand here questioning the whole world,
But the truth is;
There are no shortcuts to the top of a coconut tree.