Hope’s Up

Like the jig you grew to love,
You always pushed your limits – pirouette speed, how high you jumped,
But it’s all over now, the castle shall come crashing down, even the sky above,
That mirror you stared into with all your hubris, broken, like the overrated chances you thought you have,
And all because you could not see beyond your pride first.

Little would shake a man of your stature,
Retired but not jowly, enough to make you caustic in your assertion that you are still cultured,
Life you have seen through the eye of the needle, you have surely counted the sand grains in the hourglass,
Who are we, mere mortals, to question wisdom such as that?
No argument allows for a counter, you are the plaintiff and the defendant,
And you wonder why one would be hesitant to mention matters close to their heart?
Well, it is with sincere apologies that I bring to your attention the fact,
That maybe, as unbelievable as this may be, you have been ignorant.

Stereotypes, dogmas and such,
Were things I thought you would leave in the past, or refuse to tightly grasp,
We could laugh all day about the Mugabes, Putins and Somali militants,
But you make it hard to perceive you as anything but a different kind of tyrant,
While you may not kill with weapons or cause mass destruction, encourage internecine and trigger-happy hunts,
It feels as if you cajole respect at every contentious instant,
None is safe to even grunt –
Lest you hear them and shoot off into a railing that could very well end with a boot as out you cast.

In all the years we lived as one,
It couldn’t be pitched incisively enough that we would be torn apart,
That the fabric of our bonds could be tested so thoroughly by an immigrant,
Foreign forces making historical cohesion insignificant,
Overnight; as if nothing was ever there to be maintained from the start,
As if it was all suddenly worth the shunt if push came to shove.

I guess hope’s up,
Unless you can see a way past all that,

Yours tentatively,

Evans Mbora Campbell.

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