Adeosun Olamide

Usman - Poem by Adeosun Olamide

Usman, Usman
When I had money, I brought you robes before I changed my rags
Usman, Usman
When your skin was reddish and itchy, I gave you warmth with my hug
Usman, Usman
When you pooed and vomited and your nose ran thorough through
It is I' Usman who cleaned it, that bath in your sweat

Usman, Usman
I gave you cover in those cold nights I shiver
Oh Usman, it is I you curse' I who washed your pants
Oh Usman, it is I you ignore' I who gave you life

Oh Usman,
It is I who scream, the one you set your dogs to
What horns have I to blow, what trumpet?
What vaunt have I over your life? Usman you ask'
No, certainly nothing, not silence, not falsehood
But I shall attempt to revoke your memory

Oh Usman,
Don't call me whore,
Usman, Usman
It was your sickness that required me to sell my body for your repair
It was your sickness that made me slept with Alhaji and Dungoyaro
Usman, it was for you to eat, to survive

It is I you name foul and smelly
Remember Usman, when I had money I bought you robes while I used rags

Usman, Usman,
It is I you lock out of your mansion
It was for your survival I stole drugs
To send you to become your doctor
And now I must tender coins to endure you

Usman, Usman,
It is I he called convict
It is I Usman claimed a nuisance to his household
It is I Usman fling coins to

Usman my brother
Usman, our mothers' only son
Usman the doctor
Usman the saint
Usman, the brother of a whore, a thief, a convict

It is I who bought his shoes, while my feet bare the earth
It is I who had my life shapeless in shaping his
Oh my heart bleeds Usman,
Recall this scar that mars my face, the one you inflict when I took away your cigarette
Remember dear Usman, I had none but thee had me,
But now you have all, a princess, a queen, a throne
Remember when I was your angel

Oh Usman
Don't call me a beggar, truly I was but don't
Don't call me shameless, truly I gave my pride for yours
For when you shivered, it was for you I kneeled before the priest begging a shelter

Usman, Usman
Remember my language; it may not be your grammar
But it was the one that tended you when you were sober

Usman, Usman
Don't mind my dirty looks, odor
All I need is proper bath and I will be presentable
Oh Usman,
Don't say a bath won't wash my past away
Jesus has washed the red on my white linen,
My past is gone, now give a chance make mends

Usman, Usman, don't call me mad, I am not
I didn't abandon you; it was you who disowned me
What has the white woman done to my Usman?
Has knowledge put him in the dark?
Has learning turned him forgetful?
It was in her land, you learnt, I had become prisoner for theft
Usman' it was that you may live that I stole
And for once let me be truest
Those clothes you now refer rag that I claim to have bought thee
Those clothes I stole, from the lines beneath sun where it be to parch

Oh, you all' help me beg my Usman
To let me touch him, after which I may gulp already tasted death
Oh, you all' help me beg Usman
To let me glimpse him and caress his skin
Oh, you all
Take me to my Usman; bring to my side my lost Usman,
That I may tell his mother I died in his cold hands

Topic(s) of this poem: Family

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, August 7, 2014

Poem Edited: Friday, August 8, 2014

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