The Eagle-Vulture

The rain beats the eagle

The children saw it and screamed, thinking it a vulture

Rain disfigured monarch of the sky-kingdoms

And toddlers gyrate with joy

They run around in search of

Mother’s headgear to cover its bald skin

They gathered leftover dinners placed in ceramic plates

For a feast for their future

They visited father’s sacred corner of our hut, looking for

Wellington boots for their Carcass King

It was at the verge of feast tables setting

That yester voices roared

With anger

And thunder

Against time’s newest camouflage

The primordial tongues cautioned:

As it was in the beginning

It’s now and never must be

World without end. Amen!

For unholy, unholy, unholy,

Are the lord gods of ghosts

Heaven and earth are overfilled

With their masking

So

when again

rain beats the eagle

children should never dream

it’s a vulture:

a born again crocodile hole

is never drained off scales.

11/10/2011 11:00pm Legon