DEATH NOTE For A Friend Who Lost His Mother (To Be Accompanied With African Gong) I was in sleep When the kings herald Announced the demise of penguin, The bird that feathered Its child(ren) in the harsh Sun of july summer, In the freezing snow of Mid year winter I woke Staggered out of room With sigh like a drunkard Dragging himself out of Quagmire-infest drainage I thought I was in dream Overwhelmed with tears But the cock has counted time Pass the wake of good mother Mother, They say is the god of child The owner of womb, breasts That share boundary with crust of earth and Sanctified gate of heaven; The gourd that travels the confluence of life and death without getting smashed; The mirror that sees all, The cartographer of road In the dense forest of childs destiny; Mother, the moon Unknown to the blind seer Who claims the knowledge Of the celestial bodies . . . (silence while gong echoes on) Now that god is no more god But a mere statue, Ordianary effigy in the museum of ground; A feast before the insects of grave Now that the gourd is punctured, The mirror is broken The road is zig-zag-ed No more cartographer to map The hazardous zone for nescient and unwary child We need not to blame God For we are strangers Olabayo We are outcomers with mundane existence On earth for we must return One day. . . One day Death is not a curse For we all tailor the Garment of it Why then the endless tears When we are all victims With time. . . Ajao, with time? There is a promise to be fulfilled We bear the curse of first man- Adam and his amorous wife In the sacred Garden of bliss We all have debt to pay To the Mighty Owner of souls We are slaves to angel of death (S i l e n c e ) Amuda Your mother has gone To where we dont know A bird has left its infant Children In the nest Gone like dust in wind We see her no more Dream is now a spot To relearn amity and Quench the pain of distance Immeasurable kilometres That keep child(ren) away From their mother Let us not drench earth With flodding tear of our eyes For we dont know the graves verdict That awaits her We pray we, hope for mercy For the resting soul If I can go with word today May the vacuum left behind Never haunt the living.
Posted on: Mon, 04 Nov 2013 10:25:44 +0000
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