Purpose, poetry by Andrew Ndambuki at Spillwords.com
Diana Simumpande



written by: Andrew Ndambuki



Spoken once or twice, does it matter thrice?
Flesh and blood, pain and sweat for a price
It cannot be whispered, cannot be heard
Cannot begin, cannot finish, too hard.

A little here, a little there, a lot more
A race that cannot start, cannot be won
A piercing whistle and a game is born
A trembling pen, a torn scroll, the fall.

What a waste of humanity
A muezzin’s call echoes the distant walls
A clang of bells din the cathedrals,
Another time, another day, not today.

Now, I may begin to understand the seer
But light flickers dimly, the writing’s unclear
The voice a hush, I strain to listen… oh dear
The path is windy and narrow, why do I fear?

Children play noisily in the market square
Traders sell their wares, any change to spare?
The clock chimes, the rooster crows, hair turns grey
Why am I here, Lord? In silence, I pray.

Through the crack, I see beyond my world
I hear the echo of time, eons roll the band
Seems coherent, seems clear, but I need a hand.
Does anyone understand the time and purpose?

It all starts in the beginning.
Spoken once or twice, does it matter thrice?

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