“Longtime and goodbye” saga

By Atok Dan

In the longtime, we procrastinate

In goodbye, we spend time

Fewer doers do spend time in the “longtime and goodbye” saga

They concentrate on longtime and goodbye to a friend

Much time in goodbye to girls and boyfriends,

It is a fanfare of the lazy society

When we go to farms, we say a lot of goodbyes

Supposed it is good and bye

But we goodbye a lot

In public office, we elongate greetings

It is an abnormality of the lazy society,

Though it is a sign of cordiality

I called it cordiality of hunger

We eat none from it

My friend missed a bus in the “goodbye”

Whereas in a long time, I was deemed sluggish for the interview

Supposed longtime had never been an English word,

 I would attend interviews or even a bus was not missed

Likewise, tea-taking in an office does

My visual aptitude at work

By Atok Dan

Under a balamite tree, I’m a designer at work

I do peruse over my design

A makeshift of my blueprint

 I curve it out of modernity

When I twig

I realized I’m a chip off the old block

I represent my African ancestors

They molded me into who am I

Even my design still traces its concept to them

Under a balamite tree, my psyche battles over alternatives

my eyes believe in appearance of work,

yet couldn’t delve into components

I built its concept on seeing,

people who reside around me called it beauty of my mental absurdity

truly I’m a poor designer though I still design

it is my chip of stick and I at work,

the ground is a place board for storage

It keeps my work that I could not retrieve after it rains

I do design my sleeping byre with cows,

It is smoked with dried cow dung,

Insects find it no more a place

My nose and eyes rain with sweat like a baker

hoping for profit in the bakery

Mine is none of a profit,

It is habitual, we keep cows

My toes and nails bear the print of hooves

Cows do step on bare toes,

My nails do complain but I heed much on cows’ complains

Even goats and sheep are less weighty on my toes

I was a herd boy

They are more of a life but life itself,

Their milk used to straighten wrinkles on my emaciated buttocks

Hides make the best of my royal form mattress

Needless do I buy a matchbox

Dung do store fire

With my stomach faced on of lit kiln of cow dung,

Blankets don’t come my way in a cold

Even a litter of calf urine washes my hands for milking

In winter, I cover it with ashes

In a pool, I do water with my cows

We were inseparable

I was in a cattle camp in South Sudan