I bite the kolanut
and greet the gods,
pour libation on the earth,
call the name of fathers,
and toss cowries on the chalked
faces of silence masked
as forbidden mystery.
I see truth
I see death
Ha! I see birth.
The iroko has titilated
The sky into a deluge
and now the gods cry
with each whispered prayer.
Women in white,
hands cradling
earthen pots bearing gifts,
jigida beads dancing
to skins stretched taut,
calling feet to tease the earth,
calling sweat to ease the brow,
bring their own,
supple and lean,
gleaming and dark skinned,
to greet the gods.
Incantations spew
As my gin loosed tongues
remember the faces of fathers.
Masquerades, they tumble,
from the anthill
In fire and smoke, they rumble.
Wicked faces chained, struggling,
twisting and turning,
hurdling and rushing
as ankled cowries cackle
with each forbidding step,
as raffia skirts swish and crinckle
With each forbidding step.
Music and dance,
spirits seeking home.
Incantations and prayers,
mothers seeking home.
Fear and dust,
moulded earth seeking home.
A flute pierces the gloom,
Soft and forced
Trembling with each
burst of air, each tune
a step into the silence.
The gods claim
and frenzied steps
call, call for blood and sacrifice.
White wrapper loosen
and gleaming nude,
nubile and soft,
the prophecy unleashes
pain and fear and dread.
Bones rattle as the gods claim
again and again
Until turgid with need and tears
The earth claims her own
And each of us turn to the darkness,
The darkness of home
Misery, a companion.
Priest of Ogun did you see?
I nod
Priest of Ifa did you see?
I nod
Priest of Olokun did you see?
I nod.
They nod, satisfied.
She will be buried
even as her words cling
To each weary feet
Trudging back to sleeping children
And the death that is coming.
I bite another kolanut.
Yes I see truth,
I see death,
Ha! I see birth.
I have always found the African culture to be a beautiful thing. The spectacle of festivals and music and dance is always worth seeing no matter ones religious beliefs.
The poem above reflects a fictional rendition of such an occasion where the gods are sought, prayers are said, people dance, as masquerades terrify and prophecies come. I think I am trying to pack in so much in so little a space in a medium that seem to prefer brevity.
I hope you enjoy my attempts at poetry. I enjoyed writing this one although it felt a bit stiff. I have not written like this in a very long while. Good morning.
©warpedpoetic, April 2019.
