From the Unspeaking

a poem by Adeosun Olamide Ayo, Nigeria

Gone are the bugs, tidy; that crawls my wall
And the songs in the wasps that eats the webs,
Are the vines that clings or crawls my wall,
And the hibiscus; yellow or orange that serves a wine
Gone are the clouds, that shows an art, that speaks,
With it, the stars, sun, moon that seeks my gaze
And the winds, the rains bringing a memory
Or carries, the howls and brings the snails
Gone are the children that rubs away the dust, the rust
And the mewing and crowing at night or morn.
But the world not yet banished in darkness,
Stays my body, stays my soul.

The rats whispers that I lost my hearings
The cockroach gossips that I lost my sight
And their stealthy footsteps, they came,
To wave their scraggy hands before my face,
Sometimes they wish I could swallow them,
But what is there within me for them?
Or what is in them to arose the need within me?
The lord made them too, and by my existence,
Perhaps a thousand has lived that prays for me
But no more crumbs, papers and woods for the child,
For the children they now beckon to,
To stroll this home of their forebears one last time,
To bow to me, their host and leave for survival.

A boy saw them leave and wanders in,
He brings the fishes for me to drink,
I tell him I was storm to the fishes of the sea,
And of the sharks that feared my sojourn,
But he listens not, and say I was naught than a farmer
Whose harvest was not the sea or the earth,
Rather of lambs and rams, and children lost;
Children, whose soul I cultivated to kill the devil,
Where are they now? I think I asked
But he says lost, or the grave by answering not-
And where is God, and where has he been?
Has he been with you? I ask
But he answers not and answers no more.

I sat in the open skies, waiting for the rain
The boy said it came and I did not know
I sat in the open skies, waiting for the sun
The boy said it came and I knew not
The boy said he touched me and I felt not
And woke me and I heed not;
But the boy has lost his voice and has no hearing to know;
And lost his palm, or the power of it,
Or lost his body in his war against the devil,
And his world banished in darkness, seeks to be harvested
-I spread the folds in my arms to make a cut
And gone my body, goes my soul.

Top Viewed Not Categorized Poems & Top Viewed Poems

Other poems from Adeosun Olamide Ayo, Nigeria

If you like this poem, post a message below to the poet!


Viewed 26 times

VoicesNet Likes