Earthbound Still

He should depart he thinks

From the dome of the famous building high

His Majesty Most High nearby radiant in the heavens

Mortals down below inches tall

The great river of Hudson named a tiny pond.

He should depart he thinks

A defiant exit, for heavy the load we bear, the spirit burdened

But there is the diamond eye of His Majesty scolding him

As much work we have yet to do

Love and justice song yet unsung

Here on this glorious earth.

How cowardly, how selfish

Is our elder sister the lady who from the land of angels sings not here still, devoted to love and justice for mortals, confronting the jungle line, ringed in a protective brilliant aura of turbulent indigo, in shadows and light, is she not here devoted to the goal still: “We are still on the road, we are still suffering, but we are thinking, we are thinking.”

Also our elder bard, the one with a golden voice born: “Old black Joe’s still pickin’ cotton for your ribbons and bows.”

And our younger bard, the glorious one who dwells in the famed city, one of the magic centres of the world, its legendary river of Thames named, penning for Love on this earth, reminding all: “The human race is not yet free.” Our younger sister too, who also dwells in that historic city encouraging mortals in song not to despair, not to “give in” for although they are yet hungry this earth they shall inherit, their hunger forever sated.

And here too still our brother who persuaded by his earthly hosts has taken on the stethoscope in addition to the pen, his head and his heart, made his home near the Hudson, by the right side of His Majesty, dressed in immaculate white garb now, in ordinary clothing then, working at healing mortals body and mind, his profession and his calling, matter and spirit, science and art.

Are they all not here still?

And there is the spirit of our brother mortals call “the weird one” and the spirit of our elder brother, the majestic one. Both of whom, like us, from the Star come, and on this earth dwelled devoted to the goal, sang the warrior song, lived the warrior life even as darkness gathered, danger lurked, terror threatened, violence struck. As “the weird one” did even as he was battered again and again. As the majestic one did even as he was barricaded in a dungeon, isolated from us. And both of whom their work on this earth done departed not long ago, their spirits evermore radiant, their songs for the emancipation of mortals – the unbinding of their spirits – now a prayer sung by many, innumerable.

He should depart he thinks

But there is the brooding radiance of His Majesty, His hard gaze

Reminding him he has work yet to do on this earth.

And most important of all there is the queen of his heart, his celestial betrothed

Whose arrival he yearns

Without whom his work here cannot be accomplished

Lotus her smile

The sun her eyes.

© 2006 Ségun Ògúntólá