Awélewà Poem by Olanrewaju Shomefun

At noontide,
Behind the rocky hump of the Olúmo
I stand atop the uneven slope of its plain,
Hands entwined with Awélewà,
That gorgeous enchantress of Lìsabí;
That beauty unfairly arrayed with the glory
Of ten thousand maidens;
Behind the seventy-score years old
Ìrókò tree under which shade the travesty
Of love has recurred,
With all its twists and flops.

I sip from her delicate hands
Of the gourd of emu,
That palmwine that quenched
The fire of discord among the gods.
'Hmm.' How potent is the wine that has felt the warmth of Yèmoja,
Underneath the kindling coke of life?
The wine whose fortune didn't end
With the Ewà of the ancient Ògùn River,
From whose source it sourced its sauce.

'Alas, what shall I plead before Awélewà, the jewel of my youth,
before whom I lost myself in the charm
Of her sweet wine rather
Than the feel of her effervescent skin?
She is now a metaphor of wrath and fury,
Roving her raging eyeballs of ire at me,
the alliteration of Sàngó's fiery breaths.

I know not the ways of lovers,
Nor the keys to tweaking the strings
Of feminine affection that I might once
more enjoy the dance of sunny rays
Along with the melody of sparkling rainbows under this fading sky of love.

Awélewà, my love,
Àdùnní omo Òsunbùnmí the kola seller,
She whose bowels hearkened
The summons of Òsun at the riverside,
At the auspicious hour of the witches.
Let now your gripe with me
Ebb away behind the pace of the hare,
At which heels kìnìun nibbles;
Spread abroad your bossom
Thou gracious flower of Oodua,
And let me sync my heartbeats of ìfé
With yours before the wheel of day
Turn westward.

@Shomefun O. Joshua
29-01-2022.