The Stranger Man
]= THE STRANGER MAN (1)
Once a foetus when I began the venture
And sloughed from the cove of the womb
Now closer the monstrous possessions
I built of life on the foundation of a tomb;
Thus, wherein no dust, no flesh beside.
‘Tis a drab and dull existence
Grey and brown, the sky and earth
A clime, an ambience right for sojourn
But routine tasks, to eat, sleep and work.
Planting and reaping, we worn out
Before the land or the land before us.
Hence we give way or a way given us.
‘Tis I bid to be what i have been not;
And to have all that i have had not;
Ambitions and longings all clothed me,
I strove, but time takes precedence
As fate takes her turn upon my scheme
And circadian Sculptor works my figure.
It’s a small world, I heard them say
But at least, lengthy enough to rove
And wide to play china man’s ping-pong.
And true by Smokie’s proposition:
Though the world is overcrowded,
You still found an empty place.
All through this circuitous life I fare,
Either am leaving people and things
I come across or they are leaving me;
As time, fate, God, my actions demand.
Nothing I own and nothing own me
Except to pay the price of time span
More the span, more the price to pay.
For all Being bequeathed a portion
Of life’s incubi as well as of life’s jollity,
For then are both intermeshes within the mind
To settle with those who accommodate them.
‘Tis the fear of incubus and need of jollity
Are life’s bother for minds concerned with them.
The world, us she owes nothing but
Her we owe all, her possessions encompassed
And she demands forfeiture, her bottom bared
To swallow up all her debtors.
Comforts and pleasures fled the flesh
Which we have nourished and fatten for the soil;
Is manure for grains, fertilizer for greens
To nourish and fatten yet their sons.
She is the mother, wife and daughter of men
Spewed from her womb to swallow them again.
The earth pallied not with her neighbours,
Alone the unlimited space wanders on,
Yet to build a nest but to tramp the sphere,
As an outcast in ageless time to wander on.
So with her I wander through the labyrinth of life.
Unlike them, they that sit like the poles
Abuse the hoboes and dislike the traverser
And build for the muckish flesh foundations
So that they cannot budge from the land;
The wandering earth too has infest
With a fleeting life as the weary wanderer.
Copyright © Solomon Itsoghole | Year Posted 2014
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