My love,
you tell me I should write,
for writing has been what I have done when no one would listen,
cause writing is what I do,
while no one is listening, writing
for no one
is who is always left, when one day is coming,
so
writing
why writing
when one day is what always leaves coming
when no one is there
for time is what always suspends
while suspense is
expending
paying tribute to this word,
the tribe,
we’ll come to that, we’ll come today,
when no one is listening,
it’s this time of the story
when history has waited for too long to go wasted
My love,
Do you see me in that nothingness we endure for a further
period.
Void
This is what no one wants
Go round the thing not to cross it
Though, in our saying, saying out loud
Truth trespasses fire, and doesn’t
Burn This is what no one wants,
Not to Burn
To go through and come out alive
Because of too many trues
This is what no one wants,
Go round,
Better stay in the corners,
Look to the angles we would entangle when no one is looking
,
My love,
it’s that time of the story,
when you talk to me through time-spaces,
I should write weighs on the bricks of the air,
I swear to the air, earth, fire, water,
You’re in your own element, the sixth sensing it though coming too soon for
overruling the fifth, undergoing the unknown unknown,
if counting was counting on
My love
,
It’s that time of the day
Eyes heavy loaded
Shadows of the earths
We call them up
From their graves and yards,
and leave it as it is
,
Akayovu 