Let us switch off our noses
To this common flatulence of guilt
That the world offers for our dirty G-string
We keep washing at the World Laundry Centre-
A place where souls are washed
For heaven’s corner chambers
Switch off our noses to the scent
Snaking from the chamber pot of
The International Crucifixion Chamber
For only tagged (mis)rulers of our part
Of a common world of a common stench.
Each day we pay tribute with our eyes
To the gold-shrouded tomb of justice
Offered our prodigal Lords at The Hague
But are we the only seeds whose mother-fruits
Emit stench from maggoty thrones?
Are we the cursed mis-directors
Of the fate of our lands?
Long ago a certain father & son sent
Storms across our heavens to a land beyond
Deep Mediterranean oils
Old Old Babylon
Was once the glory of that soil.
And our world switched off its voice
Over that common flatulence.
Yesterday of all days:
From the land of elephant tusks
Another prodigal path-leader was carried
Up near the stars, far away
For soul-washing.
When & how will his spirit transfigure?
& what do we do to the rest whole whore
Of clanging common flatulence of the misrule of our souls?
12:08 am. 01/12/11 Legon.
