Igbesa,2018 Poem by Babatunde Odubanwo

In the clutters of solitude and whispering trees
Finds my pen, a word for this refuged place
At the snap of countryside's humming, finds me
A medley to harmony, nature sings a song.

Under the whistling trees rustling charges aborreal tunes
Across the shallow dark swamp is a Canaan abode.
Tryst at bay, awnings of glory at the sweet sun's day
Blues tell and loam fecundity of its blessed state.

Sitting on abounding waters efflorescence, currents of pride
Sated on the wheel of basking pleasure,
She whispered in fairly bright eon, wind chorusing:
Life is here birthed.

Rain-wet, Harmattan-dry, the greens
Grow fattened all seasons refreshed by estuary of bliss.
A buoy straddling along coasts, its treasures
Upon smiling deep prowls the earth with gleaned shimmers.


In her warm embrace, sojourners find solace
Upon the broad shoulders of her love, strangers do flourish.
Border post reads in imaginary sights:
Welcome to Igbesa Maale- The Cradle of Hospitality.

Of milieu and trenches, of towns and hamlets all clasped in a coalesce ancestry
Osi, Otun, Igere, Edun commingles at the pane of one commonwealth.
As the dawn set for the mornings, she proclaims 'Ki ti gbe o'!
From Panada with gaily stride, Ilamiro chants her panegyrics:

‘Igbesa Maale, Omo a ri egun j'ebo'
(Child of Igbesa, one who feast with the gods)
‘Bi a ba ri igun, aa le se ebo'
(Without the Masquerader's benediction, there is no propitiation)
‘Bi a ba ri Akala, a le se oro'
(But for the Vulture's grace, oro rites are nullified)

A brown estate of turf springing high in thin airs
Vendetta of copperish soot colouring the faces of many
Tyres glide undulating plains and cauldron ditches
Roads lampooned by trucks, seared by minuscule gravel.
Out of the licorice night arises a dawn of beauty.
Globalization at the door: Industry answers, Guangzhou FTZ as prize.
Quiescent season soon erodes in the floodwaters of new times,
Lamps enrapture the gloomy path and longer hours for the living.

In the clutters of solitude and whispering trees
Finds my pen, a word for this refuged place- Igbesa
At the reckon of countryside's humming, finds me still
A medley to harmony, nature sings me a song.