It is middle May
And the sky is in a mood...

In the evening I loll,
Sitting down on a tortured fork...

Here in my house
I make a space for my God...

Poverty is not a calling,
Even if the priests think it is...

When I build castles in the air
I do not use cement...

My struggle is to be a man
In every respect...

I am a king, do not tell me;
I am Eze Onyeagwalam...

Only when I am sad
Or irritated...

In my quiet moments
I write...

Why do you worry
When your brother grows...

Winding the clock's screw
Round and round...

Sometimes I see the gaiety around me and
I ask myself if I am...