African Poetry

WHATEVER happened to the elephant –
Hurrah for Thunder –
...

Coming and going these several seasons,
Do stay out of the baobab tree,
Follow where you please your kindred spirits
...

Dzogbese Lisa has treated me thus

It has led me among the sharps of the forest
...

BEFORE YOU, my mother Idoto,
Naked I stand;
Before your weary presence,
A prodigal
...

They picked Akanni up one morning
Beat him soft like clay
And stuffed him down the belly
Of a waiting jeep.
...

I wanted to write you a letter
my love,
a letter that would tell
of this desire
...

 The casualties are not only those who are dead.
 They are well out of  it.
 The casualties are not only those who are dead.
 Though they await burial by installment.
...

In vain your bangles cast

Charmed circles at my feet;
...

There where the dim past and future mingle
their nebulous hopes and aspirations
there I lie.
...

The weaver bird built in our house

And laid its eggs on our only tree
...

Nightfall comes like
a dreaded disease
seeping through the pores
of a healthy body
...

(with drum accompaniment)
AND THE HORN may now paw the air howling goodbye…
For the Eagles are now in sight:
Shadows in the horizon-
...

I dreamt I saw an eye, a pretty eye,

In your hands,
...

Voice: What is this that I hear from the piper's flute?
Has the town crier gone mad to announce to strangers
The secrets of the ancient rituals?
...

Woman, place your soothing hands upon my brow,
Your hands softer than fur.
Above us balance the palm trees, barely rustling
In the night breeze. Not even a lullaby.
...

Today is Sunday.
I fear the crowd of my fellows with such faces of stone.
From my glass tower filled with headaches and impatient Ancestors,
I contemplate the roofs and hilltops in the mist.
...

I will pronounce your name, Naett, I will declaim you, Naett!
Naett, your name is mild like cinnamon, it is the fragrance in which the lemon grove sleeps
Naett, your name is the sugared clarity of blooming coffee trees
And it resembles the savannah, that blossoms forth under the masculine ardour of the midday sun
...

My Lips are twisted by Sharp Knives of the Bantu
Warriors, till Bleeding Words flow from Tongue's Mantle.
...

Joao was young like us
Joao had wide awake eyes
and alert ears
hands reaching forwards
...

EYE OPEN on the sea,
eyes open, of the prodigal;
upward to heaven shoot
where stars will fall from.
...