Empty Calabash
Silence stormed the house
As he entered with empty calabash
With its mouth facing the ground
And he could tell from the faces
Unanswerable stream of questions
Of those gathered to scoop soup
Whoever washed his feet at dawn;
Cleaned the face with calabash water
To pay visit to the sage’s kraal
And came back with empty calabash
With hands dangling like bull’s tail
Closed ancestors’ toothless mouths
Yawning to drink imaginary milk
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