VIII

 

 Born to the beauties of the flooding nocturnes

His mouth becomes pool, his mouth becomes moonlight

He was the pool’s birds of worship, he was moonlight’s horn

His horn ripening where soldier-boys shoot

Never quaked to name things obliterated

Not  until  the named and the  namer are obliterated

Witnessing, that is surrendering :As wit-ness!

And remember, he mated laughing ferns .

He is playmate of his age , he who tasted his day

Tasted fugitive tones he insistently endured.

He that is speech till the end , he died –

The sea, the rivers wrestled and raged

They sought again, his gentle praise as drummer and sage.

 

VIII

 

 She weeps from tombstone to tombstone

She weeps leaning on her doorpost

She weeps tying and untying her robe

She weeps into her hymnbook

She weeps dancing

To directors of her anguishing hour

She weeps unassuaged by the anthill.

 

 The anthill’s exultant twilit beauty

Radiates vast devastated Niger Delta.

The tears of a Mother

Make a dwelling in the evening air.

She weeps for the ogoni 9 and more

She weeps for the Jesse 1000 and more

She weeps, till all the griefs’ poison deserted her.

 

 

 IX

 

  Burn gently, toxin, upon the creeks’ pinked face.

Dirging in the dark , I read

All the sad eyeballs balloon

Between blacked-out eyelids into moonballs of light

 

 Dirge by dirge, I ease myself

From grief to see depths:

Death, only death swims the Delta.

 

 Dirging in the dark,

I sing myself to sleep:

 

 Believe your grief

Heal your grief

To believe is to heal.

 

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SENTINEL POETRY #29, Online Magazine Monthly,  April 2005, ISSN 1479-425X