Lonely Hearts

The ancient Igbos
Knew the earth had deep knowledge
And insight;
Could sniff a crowd in a moment,
Earmark the people of the turf
For their kindred blood,
And note in passing all the rest—
Their impieties as well.
 
And though Thunder was no kin of theirs,
No one’s kin really,
They still made him a shrine,
To be on the right side
Of one who sometimes rumbles a notice
From a lair behind a blue sky.
 
Anything that could lie in wait,
Calculating—
Take an accident
You can see sometimes baffle stratagems;
Whatever bides a time
No doubt has a spark
Divine or demonic.
 
So also
The song that lifts another heart,
The barb that rives another life,
Both are nurslings of lonely hearts.

[click to view introduction]