(For Musi Jane Nanhyigha)
By Tikum Mbah Azonga
Who am I, really?
A piece of wood flung at the callous wall?
A rotten chunk of meat thrown at the archbishop’s dogs?
Or a lone candle stood at the altar by Christ’s own successor?
Or am I the next standard bearer to walk up the stairs of the Kremlin?
Even without going to Delaware? Do you care?
Are you even listening or am I left to my own devices
Stood out in the cold to sing out my voice and lungs?
Why can`t I also move and have my being freely?
Why, like the man of Sisyphus, must I always stall?
Yet my wheels are hampered by no clogs
For I know I belong to the protector
Even if I`ve never lived in Melim
Sometimes I wonder why for once, I can`t also dare
And shout to the world that I too am full of devices
Even if what I need badly are a new set of rungs?