The bowel of the earth deepens with
Saturated blessings of the soil, and
Down, down, the forces burrow in its
Caverns —creviced

Between day and night, I cannot decipher,
Yet it is the mind of the night, the strength of the
Arcane values, where the eyes, though
Blind, see through the darkest chasm

Syncopations thrive —the mind and the
Soul of the hides, the metallic occupation,
The throbs from animal faculty in desuetude,
And hallowed cadences of chants.

Darkness and light, I do not know
But behold, in the strength of the day’s looming eyes,
Cormorants, in elixir, hover at the mouth of vigilant cliffs
Beneath the earth’s balcony, chattering loosely.

Chants, chants of midnight-hour Africa,
Feeble metaphor for the softness of leopard skin,
Innocent voices parched like no globule of water
Has streamed past their distressed throats in ages

From the riots of drums underneath the exhausted earth,
Skeletal frames of distinct horn-like sounds
Surround the warm rage of ceremonies in volcanic appeal,
Enough for us to grab and interpret

The rubbles of the crust, smelt in the heat of
Confused processions, charm my eyes
The earth rumbles, mirages occur so pronto, focusing their
Lens on the revelling clouds above.

Chants on time and chants on the spine of the hour . . . .
Seen through the heat-haze of the swelling day,
Beheld in the webs of the night as in the stately
Prowls of lurking, visiting silhouettes;

Chants of gestures, of initiations, of primitive
Religions, of the invocations of rain after a stifling drought,
Chants of accelerated tempos from drums and flutes in salutations
To the returning reincarnated souls.

Let the restlessness of the spirits begin now —but with supreme bliss
I could have borrowed steadfastness from the moon and the sun,
For perpetual energy and unending flow of unseen waves of clarity.
From the dark nights, I humbly request their star-studded witness.