Afrosays to me

…random excerpts from my communions with the AfroMuse

The Circus Stage February 22, 2011

Filed under: Poetry — afrosays @ 6:10 pm
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I’m trying to write a story for the Commonwealth short story competition and it’s taking me forever. I’m not sure that the erratic, bipolar AfroMuse can do Commonwealth material but it never hurts to try.

Since the goddess hasn’t been resourceful, I decided to go a scavenging in her study room. I found “The Circus” after an hour of boring rummaging and things. It seems that not much has been going on in her life since that Ennui came visiting with his soporific perfumes and his depressing liquers. Ennui is the most boring member of her world that I have ever met and the AfroMuse has been sleeping a lot since his visit; so much that I had to suggest that she doesn’t invite Ennui over again.

At times like these, I usually visit the town hall and trade experiences with fellow town-criers. It’s great to see the friendly face of Verastic, feel the intoxicating aura of NakedSha, watch the ladies swoon all over chivalrous SugarKing at the palm wine kiosk, trade gong amplifiers with Azuka, negotiate for bargains on SugaBelly paintings, listen to stand-up satire from ExSchoolNerd, have a bowl of comforting soup from motherly Myne Whitman and find strong spirit in the company of every one of my other favourite gong beaters. I might even see a new face or two, or steal a conversation with one of the maestros, (Shout out to Aloofar).

I love the village, I love the town hall, I love the noise, I love the music, I love the art, I love the fellowship of the gong.

I shall beat a party banger – shirt off, hat in the hair, gourd in hand, singing merrily with my friends from the hall because AfroSays:

THE CIRCUS STAGE

...AYAM CLOWNING...

I am clown, I’m clowning, and that’s what I do
Give me some change, let me play the fool
If I am wise, what does it matter?
I shall be dense for you
I envy the fire-eaters, I envy the lion tamers, and I envy the trapeze artists
For I was told to juggle, to play with the chimps
To earn my chance at the stage
I must wear a wig
I dance on the grounds, just after the games
I spin on my head and so do my apes
I dance with my heart, I spin with my soul
My dance is my wait
So let’s have a good time, tiny years
Before the circus troupe appears
My chimps and I shall tickle you all
We vow to bring you to tears
But when the trumpets sing loud, the curtains fall and the spotlight comes on
I have done my part; I bow out to the rolling drums
I dream in heart, eyes wide, hoping for my time
For the stage is where I belong
DREAM ON, AFRO-FOLK!
 

 
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