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President Muhammad Bukhari, get well soon.
People who want him dead, get well soon.
Because he is sick, must you then be sick?
And for haired-heads, is it a sin to fall sick?
If no, why the swirling and buzzing noise,
Pilotedly parroted by sentimental tongues?
If no, why the deep and deafening silence
earthed under the borderline of alien land?
Whichever it is, on this T-junction we stand,
Like an elderly cock sitting on the palm tree,
Watching how the sun scorches deeper –
Hardening the clay and melting the butter…
Watching how the rain wet the earth; making bitter
the bitter leaf and sweetening the sugarcane…
