The wind shakes, stirs, shivers the leaves
Blade shaped, serrated edges
Twisting in the breeze,
mangoes growing fast
in the heat and sun and ease.
I fan the spreading peacock feathers
Tipping one end of my gold-foiled wand
The other end counterbalanced
With a heavy wooden ball.
I am cooling air for the king
Sitting on his jewel-encrusted throne.
My station is 3 paces to the left
And there’s another slave on the right.
Keep the air flowing –
That is my job.
The heat is intense
But keep the king cool
And he will be content.
His decisions will not be made
In the heat of the moment.
While I serve I keep my eyes downcast
Wafting the air with my strong arms.
The king will not be disturbed.
I observe many things in the day
The king holds weighty councils
Counselors give him advice
Ministers and messengers come and go.
Councillors seek his decisions
Petitioners beg his attention.
I am the cooler of the king
And this gives me status with the slaves
They call me “Kincula” (“King-Cooler”)
They know their lives are easier
While I keep the temper of their ruler
And their country is governed in peace.
My arms do not tire,
Those biceps the women so admire –
I serve my king every day,
and every day is the same.
Although I am a humble slave
I am content with my station
I dutifully cool my king
And thereby save my nation.
c. Tim Taylor 2017