Written by: Esson Alumbugu

A race is not one if you 
fly alone
Yet stand I vainly wishing 
you I own
Wishing I did breach the 
finishing line
Leaving my sparring friends 
behind, miles nine
Groping hard in the dark 
scrambling for long.
But nay, here they stand 
bloody eyed and 
Climbing every inch of you 
fast as me
Ever crawling close to 

Do I fight fair or turn a little 
And slay my own kind with a 
slippery tongue?
Or do I stand tall, unmoved 
and noble
Amidst a varied lot, some 
named trouble?

O make haste and take your 
pick of our feasts
So I can own once more my 
long lost peace
For what will be bothers 
much we blind beasts
Unless tomorrow grants us 
what it sees.