Happiness is a moments job

You can hear the two little fairies on your shoulder

One with his cape and timbre

Skipping the ropes in rhythm with your pulse

Pointing out the laughter before you miss them

Picking up the stones after they hit you.

You ask him what is so funny

And he points to everything

And says the sun is shining

And laughs again.

In a moment 

You laugh with him,

And he laughs even more

His skipping adding zest to your step

And now your smile adds to his and makes a shield 

That catches the stones before they hit you. 

His magic wand draws sparkles in the air

Burning off the putrefaction before you breathe.

He waves the wands around and about

Cindering the mud before they stick to your jacket,

Patching the holes before they fray. 

You want to dance to his impish tune

Even though you can’t hear the beat.

When you ask him for his fee

He looks at you in wonder,

Happiness, he says, is a moments job. 

If I sat down by the crack

If I sat down

By the crack in the wall,

Where the ants scurry out from,

If I put my ears low enough in their path

Would I hear what they say?

If I strain hard enough

Would I hear them complain of the price of the crumbs 

Or the scarcity of sugary treats?

Would they be quarreling about which faction has more members

Or whose castle rises highest?

Will I discover

Why they are so earnest in their scurry

Or anything else they do?

May be I should shrink to their size

And walk among them like a European explorer, 

With a hat and boots made to size.

If I match their scurry in earnest

And drag my share of the bread crump,

If I lead them to my kitchen,

Underneath the cabinets where I keep my syrup 

If I get them to hurry up

Would they have time to check my color

Or the shape of my head?

Would they see my disguise or would they climb into the syrup

If I now march with them, 

Laden with bread and syrup

With urgency and direction 

Will they now lead me to the nest?

Will they?

Will they make me king or a sacrifice?

If I become their king

And sit on their throne

Would I remember the route back to the cabinet 

Under the kitchen

Would I remember the magic words to inflate my head

Inflate my head back into the cap I left on the door handle. 

Would they know that I came or that I left?

Would they?

If they tie me up on their altar

Would I feel like the messiah atoning for their sins

Would I sneeze and burst their nest with my head returning to size?

If I sat down beside the crack in the wall

Watching the ants pass by

Would they know what I am thinking?

Morning comes early now

Morning comes early now

Without tip toes or slow swings of the brush 

that clears the cobwebs ensnaring the brain

Morning now comes with a sudden rush

Of a bright day streaming in

Startling our spirit neighbors just about to settle for a feast.

The caution to open an eye 

And spy the dove stretching in the dew

Is lost in the shock of time and schedules set by machines and monsters

Morning comes early now without warning

Before the cockerel has cleared his throat to announce the day

Before the love has drained her languidity. 

The start is not waiting for the end to begin

The flywheel is now rolling the spinner.

Morning comes too early now. 

Time just aged

Time just sat there

By the sidewalk watching

As the paint peeled from the wall

And the weariness weighed on the souls. 

Time just sat there

Looking through the window

Taking in the parade of colors fading in succession

Voices losing their timbre 

Growls cracking into whimpers. 

Time stood with a pipe in hand

Seeing the leaves fall, dry and turn to ashes

Beneath the heavy footsteps that soon lightened to the whisper of ghosts

Time stood there

And watched them come and go

Dance and die

Leave their marks or mark their leave

Time didn’t pass, he just aged. 

1 pandemic

10 tested

100 dead

1000 hospitalized

10000 symptomatic

100000 asymptomatic  

10000 discharged

1 index case

100 contacts

1000 contacts traced

10000 quarantined

100000 in isolation

10000 released

1000 under further observation

100 ventilators

1000 ICU beds

10000 masks

100000 PPE

10000 dead nurses

1000 dead doctors

14 day lock down

30 day restriction

60 day shelter in place

90 day emergency

120 day we don’t know when

1000 steps in place

10 mile run in place

50 smiles

1000 twitter posts

10000 hours instagram live

100000 netflix binge

10000 nollywood stares

10 air quality index

30 percent seismic quiet

50 percent turbidity clarity

1 pandemic

The end should wait

The earth won’t end yet

While there are stories to be told

And crowds to hear them

And marvel at the beauty of the words

And the complexity of their logic 

Well laid out like the serpent swallowing her tail.

How will the earth end

When karma has not visited

Nor revenge served cold

And the oppressed had their turn at the whip and the golden chariots?

The time will come,

But not now.

The prophet’s new gown is still in storage

The palliatives promised are still promised

Dollars are still precious 

And the vaults still host peelings from other backs. 

Yes

The end will come

But not yet. 

Little droplet

Little droplet 

from the clouds

You survived lashing and twisting of the winds 

You braved the claps of thunder and searing of lightning

To wet this little patch of parched earth

Little droplet

From the clouds

Did you catch a whiff

Of the smell of fear cooping us in our little holes?

Did you catch a glimpse of the minute swordsman laying waste to our arms, armaments and armies

As you sailed to wet this little patch of parched earth. 

Little droplets

From the cloud

Did you sense our confusion? 

Did you feel our desperation expressed in hollow prayers and hollower rituals

Were you aghast at the leaders hiding behind numbers and numbers hiding behind projections

As you bore down to wet this little patch of a parched earth. 

Little droplet 

From the cloud

Did you think our adversary will answer to shrapnel 

Or respond to questions from pressmen entrapping politicians in their lies?

Did you think to stop in your flight and listen to the drivel from a billion voices wondering what the babble will achieve,

As you quietly wept to wet this little patch of a parched earth. 

Little droplets 

From the cloud

Did you wonder why no one ran out to welcome you 

Why no one opened the gates?

Did you ask where we have all gone?

Did they not tell you how we scurry to build, to tear down and build again?

As you reached out to touch and wet this little patch of parched earth. 

Little droplet 

from the cloud

Will you drown our adversary? 

Will you dissolve him and separate him to his essence , molecule by molecule?

Or is he riding on your tail, reaching out with sinister humor to take the spaces we have vacated 

As your arrival wets this little patch of a parched earth. 

Little droplet

Little droplet from the clouds

Are you bearing a rainbow in a vial

Fairy dust in a fairy bag

That you will sprinkle on this little patch of parched earth

and wake up the seeds hiding beneath the manure?