TEN MINUTES PAST FOUR

Ten minutes past four

I woke up in a fateful morning,

After a long night of sleep

Then I adjusted my vision to read the rusty clock

Hung onto my broken wall:

It was ten minutes past four…

In surprise

I gave a second look at the hour

Then peeped outside through my window;

It was still sunrise

I realized I hadn’t replaced my batteries:

The rivers of current_ coaxing the three hands for every schedule_

Stood still

The very moment my batteries died

Meanwhile

There was a strict ban on movement in the streets:

My town was sandwiched in a big paddy of war

There was no shop to buy batteries from

To worsen matters

‘Twas my only clock

The war has lasted for three years now

It has made the mild desert a furnace:

Bonfires spread all over the place

And heat trapped by human carcasses.

All the property I had was consumed…

I am left with one only...

Me

The fighting had calmed down yesterday

War scenes evanescent with time’s transit.

But it broke out again in a forceful manner

So that events which I deemed tragic

Mounted at one time without ceasing…

This is not true in reality; time is fluid.

I was observant enough…

Having sighted the moving clouds

With silver linen

And recognized that time as a topic…

Deserved a deep reflection

The hallmark of reality is motion:

A distinction in every particle lies in how it moves...

In every living thing,

In which a discrete vein is embedded,

A definite quantum of time resides…

Blood rushes through each vein

At different speeds

Like logic literally flowing through

A free space...

The reason is obvious here;

The DNA fingerprint in every tissue varies…

Every living thing, dwelling on a range of awareness,

Has an objective to attain _

Be it noble or elusive_

This transport system model…

Serves as a vehicle

Through which the mindset

Resolves how fast one runs

And how long it will take

To get to wherever

One wants to go

Is your vein clogged with cholesterol?

In any case if any man decides

To mount on the brakes,

Or to break the vessel

Cutting out flow of Qui in the process…

Time will still move on

It waits for no one

His moment in the tracks of reality simply slips away

His reservoir of logic dries up, so much that

If nothing is done…

There will be no reason left again

To find his bearing in the sun

People say there is time for everything

I say: two hearts beat not the same way…

I hold firmly: there is time in everything;

The heart is still beating

And the script of logic is still running

For perpetual

I had lost touch of what was going on.

I looked outside…

And heard my African brother scream

“Even though the fighting is over…

Africa is far behind.

It would take forever to overtake the west…”

His name is “Otuoge” meaning “one moment”…

He was limping toward my window,

With the scars of war

I replied:

Your noise will never scale the four walls of your own mind

In reality every man has a time portal of his own…

…The moment of Africa’s transformation…

Lies in the hands of Africans themselves;

The journey of forever begins with one day…

He brought in some batteries

Which I used to replace the discharged ones on my clock

I hung it to the wall again, after three years…

The exercise meant a lot to me:

It was precisely the time the war began;

It was exactly the time the war ended.

Also, it was coincidental that

I needed not to readjust the clock...

It was as if the clock began to run

As soon as the arbitrary clock opened fire...