I saw it raise
The sudden cloud, from ashes.
They joined in a ring of
The circling spirit.
O it must rain
These closures on the mind, blinding us
In strange despairs, teaching
Purity of sadness.
And how it beats
Skeined transperencies on wings
Of our desires, searing dark longings
In cruel baptisms.
Rain-reeds, practised in
The grace of yielding, yet unbending
From afar, this, your conjugation with my earth
Bares crounching rocks.
Written by Wole Soyinka
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