I CAN FEEL YOUR PULSE FROM HERE

I can feel your pulse from here:

The watchman for Flee-Town.

I sat in the pinnacle

And saw the ants (black and white)

Streaming towards the city.

Here too I am my nation:

A piece of your earthly dream,

The necklace for poor neighbours,

And they say, “Come on boy,

A piece of you will feed us”.

O they won’t care to know you,

Where they don’t care to see you:

They say your streets are too red,

With sexless ageless lifeblood;

I can feel your pulse from here.

Here in the tower I stand,

Standby being my daily bread:

No omolankays, it seems,

Salute me as a chieftain;

But I feel your pulse from here.

Peace has been my shuffled shot:

My teeth know no stream of tears,

Though my eyes keep pouring rains,

And nameless drops anoint my heart,

Leaving there th’emotion drops.

Before me the projects rise:

Before me the poor are sliced,

I am butchered left and right,

For the sake of jewelry,

That lies so close to my heart.

Let someone hear my dreaming,

For caring gents and ladies:

That each may bear the nation,

In the watchto’er for Flee-Town,

As I feel your pulse from here.

My tears are named as naked,

Each time each drops on me;

They wet my heart with stories,

Untold where God has ground;

But I feel your pulse from here.