Communion Poem by Peter Omoko

The muse of song is upon me
With canons that spit freedom
To the oppress…
And to the exploiters, discomfort

My umbilical is knotted in the foundry of bards
My tongue will not falter
You have not heard of my swagger -
And never drank from the lyric pot of my wits?

I drank my wine in the marriage of freedom
I cocked my feet in the pilgrimage of frozen laughter
I have recharged my tongue
To sing the toiling song of the hapless

My tongue is the stone from the ocean
That lightens the mountain tops
A flea to torment the hawks
And the jigger to sore the feet of tribal-crickets

They hear my chant
And quake with fear
Like the weaver birds
In obeisance to wanton stones

Did I not see them?
Did I not warn them?
I shall sound the drumbeats of Egba*
To inoculate feeble limbs

If you ignore me
My smile will charm you
My pellets are mortal
My songs are eternal

You cannot distort my tongue
For I carry the burden of the oppressed
Plucked through the grove of aborted dreams
These repeated seasons

My muse has perched on a summit
Carapaced in war regalia

To redeem the voice of the people
Beware, owls beware




• Egba: god of war and justice of the people of Owahwa sub-clan of the Ughievwen Kingdom (Urhobo) .