I have been in this circle for too long a time,
My forefinger pressed down to earth,
My leg hanging to the east
My desire, to the west
The longing for your coming
I have danced with chalk on my wrist
Cowries around my waist
And tears in my eyes,
I have sprinkled the blood of infant tortoise to the gods
To make you free from bound-rest
Please, amnesty to you, gods
Let him be
He’s the tiny sword in our collective Africa
Please let him be
For I know he is bold
To walk home straight
Head high
Fist in the air,
Drums calling
Peace assured!
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