By John F. Buoye

Bird of many mysteries

In songs and proud sky circling.

Your feathers, soft and pampering

Nurtures the devil’s secrets

Housing shy demons at late nights.

When the sky parades itself in elegiac blindness

The call of the spirits and wild men is yours to perform.

The dark chronicles of punctured ages

Rolls perfectly through your slim and sophisticated beaks

As a minstrel to the night of many songs

Give your call to the night sky

Pierce its unending hideousness

Watch its response in bats and owls

In blood sucking and large eyes for darkness reserved

Your gliding through the still air

Slices momentary calm to shady mysteries.

In your small head

Is the response to why the hunter never returned home;

And why the search for the lost princess may forever continue.


Perch gently

On the shoulder of my balanced gaze

Take me violently for I have no wings

Pull me by my gaze

Lend me night visions

Show me why some kings

May at battle dance.

About the author

Bada Yusuf Amoo