Will you tell the world
To lower its saddle
That you may mount
Without a fret
Will you command the hen
To lay its eggs
In haste and pain
For your breakfast delight
When last did you hear the sorrowful
Strains of the neighing horse
Or regarded the stony stare
In the eyes of a frying fish
The clouds which lavish their showers
Often carry a dry pouch
Beachside sands rue, silently,
The cruel anonymity in reckless numbers
Every river has a story
Broad as the Benue
Lyrical as the Limpopo
When free of blight and allied befoulments
Between the hunter and the hunted
The eater and the eaten
Time’s workmen are busy
Working on a two-way road