The Gbanabom Collective

gbanabom hallowell

The games are over, and

I return to report the wars; the night

is the excreta of the day, and

I return to report the smell; the man

is the child of the sun, and

I return to report the scorch; the rain

is the water of the seas, and

I return to report the flood; the bridge

is the secret of death, and

I return to reverse the clock; the road

is the hunger of the mind, and

I return to fence the graveyard; the graveyard

is the house of the unborn, and

I return to donate some blood; the second

is the brother of the minute, and

I return to alert the hour; the edge

is the end of the mind, and

I return to caution the philosopher; the philosopher

is the angel of death, and

I return to alert the living; the flower

is the gun of the lover, and

I return to reason with the heart; the truth

is the sword of the lie, and

I return to arm the victim; the lie

is the smile of the truth, and

I return to trap the perpetrator; the victim

is the brother of the perpetrator, and

I return to clean the blood; the wretched

is the child of the affluent, and

I return to the science of humanity; the subject

is the reverse of the object, and

I return to bury my double edged sword; the dead

is the audience of the living, and

I return to act the drama; the living man

is the judge of the dead, and

I return to argue their case; the forest

is the infant of the jungle, and

I return to study the law.