By far I have descended into details. And a greater number of things that have not satisfied me like the rains do the Harmattan.

Maybe, one day I will evince symptoms of patience, and adjust my expectations. I am restless in my movements, often a solitary wanderer in the company of men. By accounts of my resolve, I wish you were bold enough to be yourself, and not change so often that we lost track of who we were, and our place in this world.

He is his mother’s son,
She doesn’t know that he is a stranger to her.
Perpetually he is in his father’s sight,
Someday his vision for him will fall to the ground.
Because he’s like a loner come to town.
A man of his own.