Samuel Oladimeji Kuye (Eric WordSmith). Theme images by kelvinjay. Powered by Blogger.










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MOSES THE AFRICAN It’s for the land of Pharaoh That Hebrews may raise no bow That the canal is heated a furnace That all sunny may ashen as they surface. No Jacob journeyed to Egypt No Joseph reigned in Egypt But Pharaoh’s army, on the Queen’s bill Raced on fab fads to Hebrew land to till The ground founded on beds of gold And beads and regalia of glory to behold For many are the princes of Jacob begotten And lords of Abraham’s Isaac not forgotten. Oh Ye that hovered on the waters Before heaven instituted fighters Ye know I know not. Let Thy mind be my lot As I take from the mouth of the muse of old My mouth may then be bold. My bones breathe to speak But my tingling tongue’s so weak Afraid of sapid-soothing-darkness books And tattle-terror-light hooks That stiffen penguin’s wings And hunts what’er hard-bitten parrot that sings Oh let the muse of the Book posses me! That I may scribble-swim through pages past me. If I bid Moses’ terra incognita to find Then may thee bind my mind But that I seek to see to say Of Moses that lives today Open the eyes of the ways and ways of the eyes That the favoured-wordsmith may rise. Digging …

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