Unfair

Right and wrong and yet some men are neutral I have built two hills with my words and my mothers advice is the river between And as the wind is blowing and the sun rays are sneaking through the spaces of this mud house I was born in, I can hear the chicks in the oval of their eggs dance to the excitement of seeing the yellow of their feathers, Likened to the impending anxiety of a man about to meet his lover, It is an uneasy yoke.... For this year I have squashed grapes and plucked herbs from the hills of sleeping lions, Drinking this vintage wine as I satiate my eyes on the tides of these ever flowing ridges, I have seen the innocence I left in a wombman floating by, So I read novels and write poems like I am to receive pension in doing so, And this feeling I write about is ecstasy, This type of sentimence like life is to end in tears, But on other days I pursue it more than muthoni longed to be circumcised, Against all odds. It is an unfair game.