By Ochuko Tonukari
I just went to sleep
But I am still here
Like a spirit roaming the night
Thirsty, hungry, wailing
Seldom stopping to rest
I dwelt in the unknown
Like a ghost in the Imidaka forest
A game for the boy’s pentathlon
A lady in black apparels,
Traversed through my eyes
Island with her cows
With eyes charging, beckoning the mars
She was ogling at me?
Turning me around
As the tinted glass doors hissed shut
Synthetic ferns swayed,
Up and down the empty lobby
Nothing moved in the sun-smacked car park
Beyond, a row of palm trees and the deep sky
I swung around
And now nearer she came
Offering me her hand,
her smile as ironed as her uniform
I saw the pores beneath her make-up,
and heard the silence beneath the muzak
and the rushing beneath the silence.
So what if she is the one?
Some said the unclean check in here
under false names all the time
To fornicate, with strangers
Not a soul was stirring.
Hushed corridors stretched
into the noontime distance,
empty as catacombs.
I looked out into the eye of the sun
Some dark angels were rising
like windowless temples,
Dazzling the unclean in alliance
The built-up districts,
the factories pumping out venom
into the air and water supplies.
Fridges abandoned in wastegrounds of lesser debris.
What grafted-on pieces of ugliness are their walls!
Imagine the New Earth
sweeping this festering mess away
like a mighty broom,
Returning the land to its virginal state
Then the Fellowship will create something we deserve,
Which the survivors will cherish for eternity
And I, I alone,
Who stood at the edge of the faithful,
alone in the darkness
An outrider, a herald
Then I heard a man trapped, finished
So much deceit in this twisted world
Has he naively had it with the unclean?
For it amused me how much they pay to go there
Need I rise and watch
As there are troubles with these hours
Back tides estuary sweeping the front sanctuary
Then, i waited…minding my own mysteries
Jigsaw pieces of my dream lay dropped around
If it’s funerals the unclean want,
they shall have them aplenty,
during the sinister Nights,
before she rises to claim.
Funerals with no mourners.
showing them foaming at the mouth.
Love. What does this frothy,
idol-riddled world of the unclean know of Love?
Walking through the tunnels
I stroked the walls with my fingertips.
I stroked the scars on the wall,
made by the grenade blasts
and the picks that the unclean had used
to dig their stronghold,
and I felt no affinity with them.
The same power I had with the divine.
With my inscrutable alpha quotient,
I was picking up on their anima residue.
I wandered the tunnels until I lost track of the time.