MISTAKES OF THE GODS

As I busied my hands

In the green fields

Fiam! Came the trance

Like a flash

Dragging my memory 

To many years afore

Gbam! I sputtered in the field

I laid still

My consciousness taking a walk

To centuries far gone

With speed as fast as rocket

In my vision,

As clear as day I saw them- the gods

Their appearance inexplicable

They wore the cloaks of spirits

Faces, I can’t make out

Bodies like smoke

The gods smiled,

Across the river

Stood a priest

Face painted in white,

Mouth clutching a frond;

Hungry steel in his right grip,

A wailing baby in his left grip.

In reverence, he addresses the smoke

With fear and courage

The wailing baby held up

To the gods- the smoke

Beside the priest, another man

Cuddling another baby

The baby- innocent and wide eyed.

I noticed something

The babies look alike

Two, but the same appearance- twins

Yes! They are twins!

Then I saw the gods- the smoke

Smiling at the priest

It whispered to the priest

Like a fiery whirlwind

The smoke winked

The steel rose high

Swooped down

Blood smeared

The wailing baby went eternally dumb.

I saw the smoke dangling in laughter.

Ferociously, a woman rolled

Like a wounded lioness

People, laughing and crying held her

As she bemoans her fate.

The red complexioned steel rose again

Blood smeared again

The second baby

The same as the first, wailed … silence!

Wailings!

Laughter!

Whispers!

Groans!

All, for the moment.

Babies are free gifts

They gods decreed

Two must die!

One must live!

Nature violated

Procreation suppressed

Who knew the future of those babies?

Oh! What a mistake of the gods.

VOICE OF THE PALM TREE

I took the third sip

From the wooden cup

I smiled gaily

The breeze romances me coolly.

I took another sip

And the palm wine juggles down

It felt like a tip

Like am in heaven’s town

The palm wine kissed me a sweet sensation

It brought me right up to my senses.

In such a rosy state

I looked across

Into the small bushes

The tree I saw

In one moment

I was lost

Dancing with the tree

In my memory.

This tree

This simple palm tree

Produces such a sweet wonder!

The keg is tied to it

And in the morning, tiny drops it bears.

In the evening

The taper returns

With a gallon

Full of palm wine

A voice came

I looked around

The speaker

I can’t see

The voice came still

From within me

“I fed their goats

With my wings

I gave shelter to man

With my bones

I tidied their homes

With my veins

I prepared their food

With my blood

I gave them cream to rub

With my secretion

I stored their fruits

With my warmth”

The voice stopped.

I listened

It muttered

This time in sobs:

“What have I not done?”

The voice continued

“What did I not do for man?

Yet they treated me like a refugee

They plant and dumped me

On a lonely land

Where no crops grow

They bit the fingers

That fed them

As you are here

Drinking and enjoying me,

Somewhere in the bush

They are cutting me down”.

A CALL TO HOME

Standing on the hedges

Her personality black- Mother Africa!

Her voice reverberating

As she calls out

To all her cocks and hens

Even the ones in the bushes

Bushes full of white gardens

She seemed worn out

Yet highly determined

Like a town crier

As vigorous as a wrestler

Never tiring, never relenting

She paused

Only for a moment

Wearing a frown

On a smiling face

A chick came along

Her dimple deepened

A look at the chick

The frown stronger

Her face discerning the chick

Then, one white hen staggered out

In a vicious anger

She stopped

Her neck moved higher

She vision farther

To the point

Where the sun sets

Down on the white bushes

Only the hen she saw

What happened?

Where are my livestock?

Water gathered round

Her electric eyes

Helplessly, the water cat-walked

Down her chubby cheeks

She opened her mouth

Words waited without wail

A cock came around

A big black bird

Mother Africa waited

Watching without words

Water cat-walked uncontrollably

The cock was fighting

With the white hen

In the white bushes

Right in front of the garden’s gate

The white hen smiling

Refusing to allow the cock

An entrance into the bushes

With tears of humiliation

The black cock returned

Into the waiting arms

Of dear Mother Africa.

BLACK DIAMOND

We’re at peace

Eating corn cobs

Our wives happy

The kids robust

Our fields green.

We’re happy

While we dig with hoes

Our machete edges

Sharp and fierce.

We’re enough

Our bans full with crops

From the field

Of our own sweat.

Then the ships arrived

On the shores of our rivers

The white heads popped

Smiling enviously

Their faces red-white

We didn’t kno’

Oh! We didn’t know.

We’re at peace

Quite peaceful

We echoed

Beckoning them

With admiration and olive

To our world

Full of black diamond

Out of pity

And concern

To help them

Tidy their abodes.

In no time

Our sons became slaves

We no longer see them

Our huts became still and cold

With no one to warm us.

In no time

Our black diamonds

They began to discover

Our sons

They FORCED

To dig our soils

For them to exploit

Helplessly we watched

As they carted away

Our black diamonds

Thro’ the voyage

To the land full of white heads.

Before our eyes

They beautified

Their domains

With the proceeds

Picked from our “own”

In penury they put us

In thatched huts

With leaking roofs

Then our lions revolted

But they brandished

Mass destruction

Threatened, we silenced our rebel

And slowly,

They drove us

Into slavery; into servitude

In our own lands

Upon our diamonds

Our Black Diamond.

Our elders cried

“The Westerners have

Taken away our diamonds!”

Our lions shouted

We’ve been suppressed!

The world, be aware that

Whiteheads from snowy coastal regions

UNDER-DEVELOPED US!