I will stand, stinking of horses and bulls
A black body in your clean room.
I will stand in chains
Shaking with the noise of battle
Still ringing in my bones.
I will stand behind and wait
Ready to serve you
I will be an uncomfortable silence
Around your table.
While the food you eat turns to mud.
I will be your snigger, your chink
The paki in your galley.
I will be the dung in your gallery
The bones of your china
I will be a shadow in your white room.
A dark continent in your icy waste.
I will be the bruise on your skin,
The black eye
Like a toad in your milk.
I will be the voodoo doll
All ribbons and earth
In your surgeon’s sterile theatre.
I will be the first house
The Ka’ba in your Cathedral.
I will be the lead in your coffers
The alchemist’s crucible,
Left burnt and cooling
An embarrassment in Newton’s study.
I will be the edge in your plane.
The blindness in your wit.
Your ultraviolet catastrophe.
A black spot.
I will hold you a prisoner
Outside the prison you have built
While I swim in darkness.
I come to you with nothing
And leave you with less.
I come in rags and bones
Dressed in a tissue of lives
I wait at your door with an invitation
To come out and take the air with me.
I ask only for giveness
Give only space
And the falling through it.