Songs of me—


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I have had these hidden dilemmas of this day
A journey well sourced and coursed
The tree behind the hut is broken
The birds are homeless
As their nest grew into the dying time

A man with an axe
A woman with her basket
Their children singing joyfully
But alas at the river bank
Came my last dirge

Kofi, Antobam,
The flower in the pot
Has gone blowing no sand
He kicked his hands against no wall
And no one heard his voice

The blue river is now brown
Her ripples are now calm
Who said the days are not numbered
That he would play the skin by the knife?

I am lost,
shirt removed
mouth dried—

The flyer from abiom is here
The banner from Abdulla’s old typewriter
I have read it headlines
But I need Hausa ‘kokoo’
Lest I be turned a stooge
Whilst I speak with the tongues
Of the 900 thousand gods of the East

I need you half courage
I need your light skies and universe
For this day, and night
The bells of the shrine calls
     let all be in silence….
As I sing to you
I am your soul distilled from the oak
I bow with my folded tongue—

The Village Thinker © 2014

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