Again
You have come,
Visitor
That never overstays.
I laugh at your cries;
An echo of the first time
You rented
My now weary womb.
Do you see tears
In my eyes?
No, the wells therein are
Drier than the desert sand.
This time, I pour no libation,
For the gods
Are drunk from my river
Of prayer gin.
I hold a lamp in my hands
The snake at the door
Shall be crushed
Before it strikes my heels
And I shall pair your cry with a cackle
For the child that says
His mother shall not sleep
Must not his eyelids close.
II.
Do not expect goats and cowries;
My yams are dry
And the barns are empty
From your many comings.
No longer shall I be
The ripe palm kernel
That lies in wait
For the squirrel’s teeth.
So in my barrenness
Shall I find fruit.
For we shall not call the river another name
Because it has no fish.
And the elder shall not
Call the cow Baba
To get beef
For his teeth to chew.
I shall deny you the warmth
Of the god’s swollen foot-
Is the vultures’ belly
Not grave enough?
Hear my words through your cries;
Tell them when you go again,
That I wait. Yes, I wait,
To marry a cackle to your cries.
Written by:Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
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You’ve got a nice collection here. Keep the ink ever flowing like the River Ruhr. floreat!
You’ve got a nice collection here. Keep the ink ever flowing like the River Ruhr. Success! floreat!
thanks