Elders With Guitars

Crashing thunder thunders
On the wet mud walls
And women take trinkets
To elders with guitars.
Pass that old machine
Round the houses
We're free styling
Borderlining beguiling.
I ate the sea the day that
They liberated the palm trees
Pass the fail machine
Round society
And see sweet music.
I'm a flower flicking
In the African breeze
Yellow-blue daydreams
Drip on me
I'm a soldier of nothing
I fight for a cause
As lost as the weather
Tumbling through
Mud homes
Just another African summer.
I'm a warrior
I don't ask for much
Just a pencil
So with a rubber on top
So that I can erase
The tsunami
That will hit
When the fan
Spews the shit.
I'm a landlocked ocean
Striving for freedom
Downing uppers
Smoking daydreams
That drip like drops
In photos of fascination
And it's not that I'm bothered
I don't even know
Where my bluebell rain will go
And you may
call this nonsense
Like a ship floating
But I'm not looking
For voting, recognition
Or anything.
I'm a hemisphere
Lost in a wind
Giving life to love
As it leaves
Serenaded by
Elders with guitars
And daydream nights
Lit up by fanciful flights.
Pass the old machine
Around the houses
Made of mud
In an Africa breeze.
Wind her up
With a twist
And listen with cupped ears.
Then rest.