jeudi 18 novembre 2010


By Tikum Mbah Azonga

(Reminiscences of an old nursery school rime that left a lasting impression on me).

I saw the house that Jack built
I saw it with my own eyes
But I found no rat in it
However, I found scattered grains of corn
Strewn all over the floor
As if the rats had just visited
Apart from that odd find
Nothing else lay in the house that Jack built
So I wondered
Should I trek all the way to Nottingham
To see what legacy Lord Byron left
Or should I contend myself with
The leftovers of the sour malt
And the loose white hairs from the beleaguered cat`s body
The footman said he preserved?
And why should I believe him anyway?
I didn`t see the dog, nor the man, nor the priest nor the maiden
But as I came away disappointed
I heard ringing in my poor ears
Children`s deafening voices singing
This is the house that Jack built.

Copyright 2010

2 commentaires:

Mundi Hermann a dit…

Ouchh,you"ve succeeded in instilling in me the anxiety of "falling bush"

MARTINS a dit…

Sure, when i look around i find myself in that same old house 'Jack Built'. All the same, am trusting God for a new one come 2011.