Loneliness


When the wind is tired of no one noticing
its high pitched or low pitched singing
or its long whispering or gabled groaning,
when the wind is tired of its solitary existence
or its lonely castle and cold coral bed,
when the wind is tired of roaming alone
in the rain or in the scorching sun,
or through long days and long nights,
it suddenly comes roaring in vengeful rage
and tearing coasts and shores apart
with its tornado teeth,
or twisting its hurricane arms,
gathering idle and loitering wishy-washy elements
and arming them with velocity
and stones and mortars
to plunder and recreate landscapes,
uprooting walls, trees and barns,
and littering streets and everywhere
with tattered garbs and garbage,
to make a statement
no one will easily forget,
and make men weep in hysteria
in long solitary nights,
pulling their hairs in grave mourning
in the midst of the ruins.

Loneliness, a heart wounded and deserted,
a raging sea with misguided aggression,
a loose cannon of an angry hunter
sunk into the holy artery of a nun
who became lonely by choice, not by feeling.

2011.George MacLean Akurunwa