Thursday, 1 March 2012

How Times Change!


The Old Man taps his snuff bottle gently
Then peers into a distance
As if in a reverie:
A bad mannered young man
Wagged his fingers on his face
He winced, and hoped
That lightning never struck him
Another tail of a goat blew dust
Into his eyes with his big motokaa
And now, so many miles from the market,
He had forgotten to buy his tobacco
His nose, like pepper on wound, irritated

When his feet was light,
He could walk from Nasal to Nauyapong’
Swift like an antelope
When he was this size (so young actually)
Donkeys carried posho and never stirred dust
Then, if somebody’s bad whispered
Was caught in his ears
He could tear him into sixteen pieces

How times change!

Poem written in response to Poets United's The Thursday Think Tank #86 - Rebirth


Karen said...

I hear the echoes now that I am here, though I am far away, and I will continue to visit.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Oh, I relate to the tired old man........I love the mood of this poem, the place names, the dust and cool.

booguloo said...

I like to think that it's my turn to watch and advise. smiles...

echoesofthehills said...

Thanks for your maiden pilgrimage to the hills, Booguloo. Yes, you are welcome to make your observations what with lots of insights you have accumulated.

echoesofthehills said...

Thanks Karen for making a pilgrimage to these scared hills. Yes, the hills have a way of reconnecting us.

echoesofthehills said...

Yes, me too, Koko.

{Putting a smiling face}

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Echoes of the Hills is all about you. I would love to hear your echo...

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