For The Daughter of Tuesday

The irony of the African Sun
beautifully orange, sitting at Earth’s bottom.
In her rests the power, witchcraft
not technology, to change her colour.
The Californian Sun
it does not orbit—
it is just red, less burning—
neither does other objects so bright;
the cosmic dance of the glorious Earth
is in Africa only, in the safari chest
where long-horned antelopes are watched.
No, the Californian Sun sits in
solitary.
It has no neighbours like Earth as Africa
Those who watch the Californian Sun;
they do not see the African Sun
Earth sees two Suns.

One Way Trip

I have been waiting here like always
I know you will be asleep, dreaming away
Many memories of Us, Our ways in plays
In which we have drawn up our characters as gay
As new Lovers. We know they say
What we will become come the day
The merciful Sun will show its ray
On Our path so we do not stray
And miss the line when we grace life’s stage
We will see each other; five moons soon shall pass soon
Under the politics of the wind I shall fly to you
And we shall sit and wait here like always.