timber in the forest
Of a thousand eggheads.
Harrumphed professor
With great voice.
A literary pundit festering
The mind of insatiable zealots.
Kongi, a ghomid and terrestrial intellectual
Property to voyagers of the muse.
A conscience of the nation
Grinding in a confused and wasteland.
In vain their hate cast.
Ramshackles at their feet
To see you saunter,
To your Octo berth.
An octogenarian with unmatched
Intellectual acuity.
As you fete on your day,
Your zealots are feasting
With you in absentia, and
In the museum of art.
Kongi harvest,
Cling and toast your glass of wine
In an unending fecundity,
To the admiration of your
Adversaries and admirers.