Uncategorized

NOSTALGIA

ONE OF IKOSIN RESOURCES

ONE OF IKOSIN RESOURCES

(A verse on Ikosin in Ifelodun Local Government of Kwara State)

By Ogunyomi Israel Abidemi

 

I remember a river

Drumming hard at rain

As a deaf Bembe drummer

At the epilogue of dance

But splits shamefully

At the sight of drought

When randy November stealthily

Slips his filthy fingers into

The cunning cunt of the year

I remember a cloudscape

Spangled at night by the

Constellation of stars

When the great grey-headed

Crime analyst at the court

Of curious children heavily

Pregnant with piffling questions

Unwound folded details

Of our famous trickster’s crimes

 

I remember a night

Seized by a mighty moon

When hunters returned

With chants of ballad in their mouths

And sacks heavy as ballast

Wailing torrents of red wine

Flooding from their shoulders

Into the belly of the earth through

The wide pipes of their trousers

 

I remember a dawn, dark as midnight

When the skin of the sky

Was soaked-soft in indigo;

With a cloudburst of rainstorm

Sweeping dusts off the earth’s

Baldish head and the swollen

Eyes of the sky

Shedding ceaseless tears –

Almost over-softening the hardest pebbles.

 

I remember an evening

Swaddled in the wool of hunger and anger

When boiling water in pots

Longed in vain for finished flour

And creditors knocked terribly

On debtors’ doors –

Tying head-scarves to smarten their loins –

To receive their half-completed

Payment in full.

 

I remember a grinding ground at Ago

Where women in the evening

Peel skins off cassavas’ tubby tubers

And grinding engine grunt grouchily

On succulent thighs of cassava

Before stuffing them up in sacks

And forcing tears white as chalk

Out of their swollen eyes in the bellies of sacks

At the torturous basement of a heavy jack

 

I remember a field, flourishing with palms

As Jerusalem, city of great David,

Where wine tappers

Hang gourds on bleeding

Necks of injured palms;

Where red-oil extractors mercilessly

Behead bunches of palm fruits;

And broom makers severe

Arrogant fingers of palm trees

 

I remember Ojuoro

An epileptic flow in rain and drought

Where land squirrels and rabbits

Within tiny tracks of withered grasses

Engage hunters’ dogs in relays of survival

Before leaping rudely into the castles

Of Her Majesty – the termites’ queen.

 

I remember Okefu, a jocose joint

Where keg men, under the shackles

Of palms’ white blood blatantly unveil hidden

Secrets of their wives’ Promiscuities

While oozing oceans of palm wine

Fuming furiously out of the

Tiny throats of some gigantic gourds.

About the author

Editor

Bada Yusuf Amoo holds B.A in Literature in English from Obafemi Awolowo University, he is the publisher of thespeakingheart.com. He started the website in 2015, he has published both his works and other budding writers and poets on the website. He is a public commentators and his articles are on different websites.