by Anita R. Belagodu
On a hill, aloof, alone, away, faraway
Hands raise to divine grace way
Winds and bellows fill quiet taverns
Asking me questions, shaking an empty barrel.
Only noises deafen ears, silent words
stoop to devour my experience.
Did I miss anything not marrying a miss?
a couple of children who would genetically be mine.
Companionship, camaraderie, life partner did I say?
They are me and several times myself
In different forms, I score, earn, make a living.
For generations with toil, blood, sweat and tears.
Myself, on a locust, I sit
in fight and in flight, savouring life bit by bit.