The grasshopper left the corn
For the dawn of the baobab tree
The elders brought flowers
For the floor of the ages past
And the door of ages to come
Grasshopper's heart stridulated
In awe. Its mandibles move
To shred its doubt in questions.
The elders stood silent
Before the open palm spooning
The eyes for a taste of wisdom:
"Patience," said the elders.
The elders ears buzzed
With the sounds of futile wings
Longing for the flight of freedom
"Grow your conscience," spoke
The elders in the morning smoke
Of dew where the heart
Of flora and fauna is burning.
And I was left nothing there
But corn blades bitten bare
To the ground, and a path
Through the desert sands of wrath
That beckons me to where
I will sit in the elders' chair
Weaving syllables out of air
And searching for reason
Beside the stillness of the heart.
I am the recycled question
Waiting for answer in a flower's
Bed sown with eyes of treason.