Sleeping Wind

Crazy birds swinging at a peaceful wind,
Stirring up its slowly anger,
Yet claim to only touch its tail,
But the onlooking trees are to tell the tale,
For their ribs and bones are broken.

A moonlight tale so translucent
The night think himself so light
And bluffs at the beckon of the moon,
That his sight went up in flames of darkness.

I desire the days when my ears were young,
When my eyes so innocent swam in cooling peace,
When nights sprayed winded dust
On the white brushes on my grandfather's face,
Bending their heads in glorious bow.

Like my grandfather, I am of the tribe of Igbo,
A name that reverberates as the voice of the sky,
So great a name to revere,
Yet like the wind blows fury when crazy birds swing.