I think it rains
That tongues may loosen from the parch
Uncleave roof-tops of
the mouth, hang
Heavy with knowledge
I saw it raise
The sudden cloud, from ashes.
Settling
They joined in a ring of
grey; within,
The circling spirit.
O it must rain
These closures on the mind, blinding us
In strange despairs, teaching
Purity of sadness.
And how it beats
Skeined transperencies on wings
Of our desires, searing dark longings
In cruel baptisms.
Rain-reeds, practised in
The grace of yielding, yet unbending
From afar, this, your conjugation with my earth
Bares crounching rocks.
Wole Soyinka (born 1934) Nigeria
Source: Best Poems
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