Decades after my departure,
I return to find no rapture
In the ways of my kin
And in the acts of he who bore me.
At my language he scoffs,
My diction makes him cough;
He knows not what is right
Yet refuses to embrace the light.
His children are like the sea sands,
His house, a speaker’s stand;
The pot is emptied before it hits the ground
Which is an erupting dust cloud!
His dwelling falls apart,
Because knowledge doth depart;
His children become wanderers
Who are a struck by life’s thunders.
Ignorance visited him one day,
But he refused to send her away;
Now she stands at his gates like a sentry,
Barring every shred of knowledge from entry.
