THE TRAVELLER

I’ve met people
Of different colours—
Blue, green, violet, maroon

I’ve met eyes
Of different shapes—
Cubes, cuboids, circles, triangles

I’ve spoken to tongues
Of different dialects—
Minowoh, Ginowa, Blah blah, Bli na

What are we,
but jaw, fingers, spine and knee?
Swathed in aging flesh

Naked bones spell naked truth

Once dead,
Will the dust on these bones remember:
The colour of flesh that covered them,
The jaw which spoke that particular tongue,
Or the memories which were made while being
what they stood as on ground?

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