When I think of being mortal I never chortle, but, instead
I put those thoughts behind and hope to be divine
If when I die there's nothing more
and I will go away forever, never more
to be, I'll hope for a miracle
of some meaning or a purpose to define
Perhaps it's true that when you die
there's nothing more from ship or shore
the course being silent, dark and deep
Perhaps, at the thought of death
we should just wring our hands and weep
and into esoteric worlds of fantasy
we should, hopefully, creep
It's hard to be nothing at all,
or into some empty abyss fall
But, if there's hope to find and death
is a rebirth of a continuum in space
and time, then no matter what I do,
my mortality is divine.
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
Using Calgary as a backdrop the author satirizes the self-serving nature of the public as it continues to fatten itself, not only physically, but egotistically as well.
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