Smells of the echoes of your tongue
Blocked oxygen’s penetration of my larynx
These days of abracadabra:
My land is a magic house
And all my siblings are changers of materials
Into other materials:
My and has twenty-two million magicians
At whose esoteric glance
Cocaine baptizes into kokonte and baking powder:
Even at the reverberating footsteps of the eyes
Of the law-men and women
And a huge stone wall of silence
Is fortified around the scientific change
The footsteps of your eyes, my land
Is sounding in receding crescendo
Even as you trek towards me
At whose feet can we lay our burdens?
Not at the Cross overfilled with garbage.
At whose feet shall we expiate your name, my land?
3/1/12 Mafi Kumase.