Ogún

 

 

Hard cut

Back of hand

Sweat drips

Silence

Then chop, bang, crack

The gun fires

The forge smokes

The knife is born to taste blood

From this iron seed is born

All that blood values

All that blood uses

All that blood clasps and guides to its goal.

You clear the road, you stand aside to let us pass,

Smiling yet glowering:

Focus of ten thousand years

Trained on the world

 

© 2000 Gregor Everitt