Baobab

Night’s lingering silhouette no longer Shields my restless shadow, which clutches me With gusto and haunting trauma. My naked thorax seeks raffia clothing; My ribs rebel against enchanting shivers from the spine of terror. Adam’s greenish raiment I long for, Among wet strings of strong bows fastened To the groins of departed giants. My feet, caked by frozen sand dunes, Tramp gently and defiantly among wooded plains, Hailing the vim of desert sun I seek shelter within your bowels, Outside your smooth, corpulent, fecund trunk. I hear the days of exile are never truly over —just like wars! Human beings abhor peace. This fear of peace I spell with letters never before written, With symbols never once imagined. Tyrants rise and fall . . . and rise again, Among climes that egg them on —tribes daunted by the Power of peace. Imbibe me, Baobab. I have no wish for a second chance, for a stumbling Dice; I cringe from the raining hails of hell, From the sick of raging volcanoes. Make my day thy juice —thy rent—but guard me From the wrecking hands of rioting cycads, From a climate so paranoid. House me now. Haunt down those that haunt me. Let the heinous powers declare me missing! Into your uterus come I —like a returning foetus.