The sky bends to the smell of smoke.
His burning flesh shall incense the heavens;
The fall will reign tonight.
Do not scream, woman,
Just close your eyes.
The noise and odour of the ravenous mob
Truckles about the flat stalls.
Cassava grains are planted on this earth.
Come, come tomorrow.
You shall find, a tree with boughs
Stretching to grab the edges of the clouds;
Black, burnt and enraged, but with small, innocent eyes.
Sweat drops. Sweat drops.
Sweat rises in vapour to form sweat clouds;
Sweat condenses.
Sweat rains on black earth.
Sweat will not quench the fire.
Little boy, soul drenched in the sweat
Of his killers;
Forgive them, they know what they do.
They pelt you with death
Not because they hate what you are
But that they fear it.
For it is in them already;
The turmoil twisting in tangled turns;
The hungry vacuum spinning all matter
To its evil, strepitous core.
Go, child. Go far away from here.
Don't hate them, love them.
Look at your mother.
Have you seen her wrapper,
Dried and warmed
By the heat from your incinerated body,
Her eyes clear and calm,
For you are not the one she has seen there.
Later she will hear
And a black rainbow will form
Over the waterfall of her eyes.
Go child. Go child.