Ichabod Poem by Emmanuel Damilola Adeyemo

On my bed I lay
With different thoughts crossing my way.
My eyes are wide open still,
After the fruitless search for sleep without pills.

I can see the night passing on,
Unfortunately, none of her allies is around to mourn.
Her African skin is becoming bleached
But the day seemed so pleased.

It looks like a well-planned coup,
‘cos earlier the stars sung a song of dupe.
The cocks are its greatest rebels,
Noisily flaunting the day’s label.

As she rounds up her reign
With a hope to be back again.
She thought of another distant home
Located somewhere in Rome.

Soberly the night stood,
Well engulfed in bad mood.
She now looks like an apparent fool
And wished not to have given in to their woo.
With the kidnapping of her glory,
Hidden secretly in the morning’s lorry,
She nurses the fear of been odd
Making her so fit to be called Ichabod.