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 |