the wombing (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

the wombing 

brown bodies they turning
close kin to one another
longing ‘cross a distance
honed close to a edge

dark shadows they leaning
where footprints they used to be
standing here alone
scared about the time

i cry i cry
this what dry in the eyes
of them who i see
staring here they at me
at this what they saying
caint they wont ever be

they realize they realize
looking there outside
they homeless cries
jelly-rolled in ways and clothes
and hand-me-downs they never knows
they shift to say the other way
and play they play
this play they play

the words pour’d out inside this horn
is born alone they painfully grown
in the passing silence of vacant spaces
naked eyes frozen in numbered faces
in the teasing smells of bygone places
and stubborn old ways they hardly knowd
still whispering here in little traces
and i’m scratching here trembling
with strange fevers won
from swallowing the stool passing on
in the dark dancing rows
of a drying and wind blown delta ground
nobody they comes they brings no cover
or the warm soothing balm of hungry ears
and those who when they called to hear
are conferenced there in some elsewhere
seems time in the rhythm getting shorter
what things here humming here must be heard
to nourish those waiting with thick plum lips
on all these things they sucking here from

Copyright © 1993 Asili Ya Nadhiri

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