Motion Against Time Poem by Kebe Iwara

This motion against time!
And satisfaction the mark;
where i should brim the touchline
concentration eludes the heart, rhythm sidestepping the track
and time, my very weakness, takes what is mine.

When shall i be wholly warped and lost
in the passion of the umpire's gun?
Withstanding the impaling of doubt and lust
to start again where i begun.

A wanton many are laned, chosen few.
Gaining, not appeasing the length
is this race. This many times i slip anew
where finishing is the test of strength.

Would God exact merit from a man
and give him only what time can?