When tales were told We sat with unblinking attention Nodded our heads in unison To the rhythms of night Sitting cross-legged as if to consult the oracle. Rhythms of night, tales of the elderly Our ears never tire…


Life folds and unfolds Like the mat of a bedwetter , It carries an unbearable stench But a perfume to the bedwetter It twists and turns Like the braids of Sisala woman. Leading to a dark nowhere Like the path to the graveyard Though it sometimes leads somewhere Like rout to a banquet Hmm mbr3 …

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