Poems
By Sheriff Bojang
Mar 26, 2005, 09:11




Canny Lie
It was all peace in our little pride
Until the day that strange cub came
Where we were silver plain he was dotted
And where our manes flow, he was bald
Even when we gave him a tiara of dried leaves
His strangeness shone with more egrigity
But we accepted him for his verve
Although we do not know the strange cub
He was a most rococo vassal.
When the King growls he tumbles
He delights in trelishing the king’s mane
And sucking his dusty paws in his watery mouth
The strange cub became a lion
And as for his strangeness, we got used to it
In his days as a lackey
He combed the king’s mane and our secrets
One day at the turn of the season
After the harvest, he killed the Lion King
And the strange cubs become the strange king
Of our much quiescent little pride
He said he was the promise and came
Not to change but enforce the law
Though he squeaks where we roar
We could not break the spell of our new King
He built a dome over our watering hole
and excreted on our oracles
Rendering them impotent
‘Freedom is the first law’ he ruled
Ang gagged all those who say but
Prosperity is the second law, he ruled
And extracted all the golden teeth
From all those who wear one
Equality is the third law he ruled
And killed all those who prowl like him
Cunning lies, canny lie,
so went on the story
Of our much quiescent little pride



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This thing called love
Once in the days of our innocence
We travel in a dreaming star that glide
Without noise in the orange dusk
We guest at a temple called Lovia
Where heads ooze chocolate pearls
And people eat hearts with arrows
In Lovia, no kings live,
The last Inhibitia II was slain
And by the codes of sans law live the Lovians
In Lovia, the world is a priestless temple
The last priest, Hypocritia II was burnt
And by the code of sans prayer, worship the Lovians
Once in the days of our awakening
We live in a city where the streets have no names
Where no weavers clad beauty in shame
Lovia is a temple of a Polyphemusian eye
Which blinks naught nor grows weary or sing to the
Orpheus
In Lovia, there is no colour
For colour is but a shadow which defiles
The beauty of the colourless
In Lovia no one sips the juice of loppy
For size and proportions are servile fetters
Which bedims the vision of the chaste self
In Lovia, there is no language
For the sound of words are too loud
Lovians speak in the feeling of the unspoken
In Lovia, there is no sorrow, nor joy
For only the pained heart knows the extant joy
And only the unicorn laughs and wails for she is vain
Once in the days of our fulfilment
We bade farewell to Lovia and glide away
On a cluster of bubbling stars
At home, we found an invasion
A new king, Inhibitia III
And Hypocritia III, the mullah
Preached the law in the temple



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A radical’s song
You painted me a black face
But say I am of the fire, the light and air
A black fire, black light, black air?
You gave me names: Lucifer, that I can’t decipher
Satan, I would prefer Santa
I never met you but you say
I am closer to you than your virginal skin
When you sprinkle the vital fluid
And eviscerate the heavy mother
And hit with your hammer of quietus
When your eye ogles with lust
And your blood races with passion
For that smarmy hole or that arrogant phallus
When your scurvied hands filch and cache
The warm harvest of that penurious toiler
You say I make you do it
But how can I lie your lie for you
When you’ve never heard my voice
You have never seen my girth and my mirth
Or smelt my mildewy odour
But you say I am so small
That I could get into your faint heart
And traipse into your redolent breathe
But you say I am so big that I stretch from Cape to
Siberia
From the Dead Sea to the alpine chalet
Then I truly do not know myself
I became the chimerical him
whose face you painted so black
Only you can see me
Because I live only in your lie
And I have no voice to say, piss off!

© Copyright 2003 by Observer Company

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