The Wind's Cry

hoo . . . ooo . . . oooo
Hear the drawn-out cry
From the depths of gathering gloom,
The tentacles of darkness
Spread and grip everything
Snuffing out all traces of light
Merging into a blanketing sheet
Of overpowering blackness
Now creeps uneasy silence
In the wake of darkness
And yet I hear again

hoo . . . ooo . . . oooo
The penetrating cry
That grips my lonely soul
In clutches of fear
Pulling out my eyes
While my blood seeks escape
Attempting to burst the veins
And throbs with the increasing frenzy
Of a tom-tom uncer the hands
Of a swarthy possessed drummer
But what cry torments me so?
Listen Lord, rooted to the spot
Gripped by unseen hands
But . . . yes it is!
I hear the whistling of the wind
Among the waving palm fronds
Eluding the outstretched fingers of the palms
As they attempt to imprison him
And jeering back at them
While he roars away, free!
And poor me
This is my false tormentor
The wind's jeering cry!
                                              J. AMOAKO-GLOVER