TO GOD BE THE GLORY.
Dusk is donning its garment;
Alas! The sun has been turned off.
There is not even a farthing, to silence the chimes of hunger.
And this squeaky parrot flutters on the sill of my shutter and shrills in to my reverie:
“Go to the ant you lazy bone! Consider her ways and be wise, it has no chief, overseer or ruler, yet it provides its food in summer, and gathers its food in the harvest.”
“Dusk would trade places with dawn and the work fields shall come alive under the eye of the sun,” I replied. A crevice on my ceiling admits the piercing glance of the sun in to my lodge; the clanging chimes of craftsmen jolts me into a new day. Damn! That trance must have poured some resins into my eyes; my joints are quivering with weakness.
“Lazy bones! How long will you lie there in bed? When will you get up from your sleep? A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the arm, and poverty comes matching in on you, scarcity hits you like an invading soldier.”
”Shoo! You pulsating parrot your squeaks are nauseating.”The pangs of hunger jolted me, I trudged into the mills to grind out a living. My lethargic muscles yelped; they chose to loll lazily. A squeak sounded in my ventricles:
“Idle hands bring poverty. Diligent hands bring wealth.”My mouth opened; a salvo of complaints struck my neighbor on the face. Another shriek shocked my marrows:
“In all work there is profit, but mere talk produces poverty.”My brain spun in its box, memories of bloom whirled before my eyes. Springs of growth, summers of reaping rolled in to view. One snowy season of sorrow sucked them all. A marshland mimed my story. This bothersome Parrot; trashed my thoughts once more:
“A sensible person gathers in summer, but he who sleeps during harvest is an embarrassment.” Floods of frustration filled my reverie, panoramas of pain played poker with my emotions. The heartrending howls of hales refused to cease:
“He who farms his land would have plenty of food, but he who follows futility has no sense.”
My emotions were strung with thistles, hatred hugged my heart. My mouth shelled courses, while I struggled to bend my flesh into motion. That chirping chime resounded in my consciousness again:
“Whoever is lazy in doing his work is brother to the destroyer.”
Wrangling transformed I, a land owner into a hired laborer. Like my blank brain did not comprehend that, this vociferous vermin piped in more pain:
“The diligent will rule, while the lazy will be put to forced labor.” Gusts of ideas pelted at the bank of my reverie, they found my kiln icier than Siberia; their flight left no trail. That cacophonous cackle pierced my silence:
“A lazy man doesn’t roast what he hunted, but when a man is diligent, his wealth is precious.” The seared soles of my battered boots begged to be changed, My tattered coat announced me as coarse, my ragged clotheing transformed me to a thermometer. That croaky growl jeered:
“The lazy person wants but doesn’t have, the diligent get their desires filled.” Winter flaked my skin, my organs hibernated hastily. Hunger hooted harder. Sullen solace sang:
“A lazy person won’t plough in winter; so at harvest-time when he looks there is nothing.” Courage chafed at me, boldness blasted my esteem, bravery broke me down, robbery rang my name, raids reeled me in. That pantomime parrot plastered more graffiti on the wall of my scorched heart:
“The lazy person’s way seems over grown with thorns, but the path of the upright is a level highway.” Compunction cuffed me, humiliation howled at me. That beastly bird threw more jibes:
“Lasiness makes people fall asleep, and an idle person will go hungry.” Weariness weakened my joints, stress stifled my breath, lasiness locked my loins, the churning in my stomach rang relentlessly. Those haughty hoots howled on:
“If you love sleep you will become poor; keep your eyes open and you will have plenty of food. The lazy person buries his hand in the dish, but doesn’t even bother to bring it to his mouth.””When will this delirium die out?” I cried. “A little morsel would make me merry.” The snot slung more sneers at my frail mind:
“A lazy man’s craving will kill him, because his hands refused to work.” “The economy is strained! The lenders mortgage loans with blood! Nguema is drinking the oil!”
“A lazy man says ‘There’s a lion outside! I will be killed if I go out in the street!” ranted on that preposterous parrot. The land is arid, there is no viable seed, the machete is to blunt for the weeds.
“I passed by the field of a lasy man and the vineyard of the man lacking sense. There it was, overgrown with thistles; The ground was covered with nettles, and it’s stonewall was broken down. I looked, and I thought about it; I saw, and I learnt this lesson” pelted that prickly parrot. Reasoning was petrified; Purpose pilfered; Duty dissolved; Teasing torrential:
“The door turns on its hinges, and the lasy man on his bed.“
“That path is to muddy,” I told my neighbors. “It is not passable.”
“Let’s grade the path with gravel,” they retorted.
”Your knees will buckle up,” I returned.
“A lasy man is wiser in his own, than seven who can answer with sense,” whistled that unbridled animal. Famine raged on in my mind, ideas scurried off, frailties fried the fervent ones. Schemes surge high instead. A cacophony of cries coalesced together:
“He who farms his land will have plenty, but he who follows futilities will have plenty of poverty.”
“I have seen the scarlet clad seductress Laziness, maim your mind with delusion.
She shaves your ideas with the razor of hallucinations.
Like a diligent farmer, she milks your muscles off its strength.
Her seductive bosom bears your life into an ocean of lost time. This is my
Hatch your ideas with diligence,
Wean your achievements with passion,
Soar on the strength of dedication above the cumulus cloud of reality and unite with your aspirations. I am; the proverbial parrot.” Beware! of the sexy seductress. For her silky tread-like hair smells of opium.