SONG FOR A WAYWARD WIND

(for Mareena)

I will not bend my song into the bow of a praise song
I will not and will never
blow my song into a razzle of soap
I am Azaglo the elephant of the wilds
he treads and the earth quakes

you thought a parasitic plant does not
bloom and branch out
it can only bend and bow its head
you got it wrong
you misread the message
encoded in the rhythms of the song in my lame voice
you confused steps in my fetid dance in the sand

it is true death has taken me unawares
caught me cold at birth but
don’t forget
the preying eagle does not swoop away
the tortoise lying flat on its belly
it can only occur and occur only
in mysterious circumstances

do you know you own
a dead mother’s soul
she who had drunk the destructive ram’s blood
picked up guns and machetes
when villagers are full of festive songs

she who thinks she can steal comfort from the hand of hope
when she never believed roses could grow by the roadside

bystanders say with a religiosity
she thinks orphans have to
groan and yearn and moan
stammer and suffer hiccups
and with bended knees weep riverfulls of sorrow
or not born at all

tell her
tell it all to your mother
I am not afraid of a few vacillating ratbags
that boast I was not born to dance with kings

tell her
I’ve closed the door this Monday morning
rolled from the grass to the driveway unbruised
I am on a jet plane to harvest life in Laughter’s deepest Soul
away from your gipsy hearts
far from your cloudy mantras