Friday, August 10, 2007


In response to Omorere's Lost's return...


It’s the evening,
The neighbors are gone now
The music has gone quiet
The celebrations are over
Its just us now…
Mama and I

She looks at me.
I look away.
She reaches for me.
I pull away.
She remains.
I stop.
I reach for her.
I stop.
I am not the son she lost,
I think.
I am not the boy she missed
…the one that left.
The one she loved.
Would she love,
the one that came,
In place of the one she lost?

It’s the evening
The neighbors are gone now…
But the questions remain.

I write…and as I write, I see the ink from my pen… as my blood.
I write in my own blood… my blood flows from my pen.
I write… and as I write, I spend myself. The more I write the more I spend.
I write… and as I write I grow weaker…weaker and weaker.
But I write.
And as I see what I write, I understand.
I understand what I have become.
I have become what I write, no more, nothing else.