A Tributary In Servitude 7 Torrents From Silence

their silence holds a million tales— emotions erupt

convulsing folds of pa.s.sion melt into lava and hunger twice as

desert for solidity of their molten rock.

Minister more to the daemons of our earth woman—

my toe bleeds by your fickle light.

It has not been easy

for our egg dwelling in a crevice of disintegrating rocks

Desist from smouldering the wick of my sanctuary the desecration of the holies of my essence

my pa.s.sions jump at your fickle light.

I remember the search—

Methuselahan

when earth was yet fresh and red when the guinea fowl had not known the venom of knives when lions yet ate leaves and danced with higher apes

when a.s.sorted fishes were yet

covenant suckers of the breast of the seas when pines were not in apples yet—

my age of innocence

When my voice was neither hoa.r.s.e nor coa.r.s.e as the laughter of a G.o.d

or grown hairy outcasts on the parched civilizations of my belly.

Then, I was innocent

holy to the bone and twice as Gabriel for what was a female friend?

some laughable stock to nag, scorn, tease and scoff or maybe once after service a saintly devil whose

hands, I would shake in contempt.

But suddenly

they now appear the guide piloting the music of my dreams some Theresa in the creeks waiting to cure me of hagload from wanderings in the creeks.

Olokun has stolen

the scales from my eyes— shaken in the new dawn of responsibilities beneath the icing-sugar-laced rhythms of heart exchange;

where is my innocence?

But I enjoy loving her

with this bald soul from the deserts of my heart

I enjoy loving her

and she still leads the way to my morrow…

II. When it mattered

a fool bade farewell at the climax of dawn

retiring to ranch to probe animal-self— testimonies in denial,

our graves a haven of wealth.

She wept,

gathered her muscles on the underside of silence,

"Chameleon of a man," she groaned; "I trusted

you fanatically you lied,

and I believed you,

love should see

ah!

a still stone beside the stream gathers moss

I should have rolled."

She poured her venom at the sun

"I will no longer trust the sun and moon

and stars…

the sun beheld me chasing winds on horses of fantasy and

the sun was mute.
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I refuse to be softened by your smile O second skin, my light-bringer."

But she calmed down

stretched out in harmony with the sun through rugged terrains— calculations I thought impossible

in the colony of words

a hundred poetal marks clothe my baboon cheek

as tell-tale of my journey in the creeks.

Now I must abolish monogamy now I must establish polygamy

to retrieve my joy from the sieves of sorrow.

And she's crossed to the other side pledging never to love again

And how do I crossover? No boat, no paddle,

no swimming skills—

she does not believe reincarnation.

I weep, separated from my folly for my newfound provides

a different kind of joy.

Tear-crusts fall from her dry-eyed lawn I cannot go thither,

she cannot come hither

In between us triumphs

the tragedy of rights in conflict.

We can no longer merge 'motions in our search for listings

in the clamour of the G.o.ds

She weeps from unbelief mouthing

"Call for the sledgehammer I want to break my bones and show the night your fire in my blood."

Needn't we say the neurosis of our parting requires no therapy of separation

but an asylum of mellowed reunion?

Count me the prodigal evoking the fragrance of return on the nostrils of your bosom.

III. And she smiled,

dumping disbelief

for my flowers of regret she smiled

merging my images in one—

two tales of a person I have confused myself.

I set sail redolent of wind-torn hammock drifting emissary on

beleaguered oceans

my heart is weather-beaten and empty; my soul is berserk on thundering waters.

I have drifted with my last breath to your harbour, O minister!

turn on the lights of your harbour, woman

My visions are animated at your torch of dew—

white–washed ewes fresh from a milky bath flas.h.i.+ng reflections of light at me

A hanging glory towering far above my-pigmy-self.

Who knows what fugitive will cure your land? who knows what melody we will make of it? this woe-road and its bloodthirsty tentacles— pilgrimage as servitude so sweet there's

a ministering angel to a.s.sist my father.

IV. I will stand here with my share of sorrow awaiting your nod,

distant realities on the map of my marrow bid me stay.

I will stand here with my share of sorrows tributary in stagnancy,

senses alert to signals of rut and much sweeter agonies.

And I will recline on the mystery that is you,

after the holocaust— replace the drawbridge.

V. I gather all my sorrows to plead my case

We crumble

palm branch and low rush on the lawn of your temple

awaiting your melody that jails all doubts.

I await your resurrection as in my dreams,

your nod to certainty brewing more harmony—

Mythical symphony

intoxicating the wildest of daemons

And the angels sway to the lines of your success

O ministering angel.

I await your thunder in the realities of my dream.

VI. Walking out of nostalgia straight into exhilaration,

I remember the legacies I drank swore to nurture for they glow earthward from the moon.

And only you can make my dreams come true woman,

heading the way— reins in hand to steer me through woe-road.

Purge me of past idiocies come alive in me

once more.

Take me back in your arms— to know the joy that is you, the agony that is you,

and the pleasures of the cross which stream from your curly lips.

Judge my intentions before settling down, sieve all my being with your knowing eye.

I was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d of

three fathers, of nine concubines

I promise to hide my s.e.x from the world

I promise to shut my smelly mouth in public I prefer the music of your feet—

pretty little pearls in settings of diamonds.

What wind would daze the flute, if not you? what ocean will clay my desert, if not you? your silent eye tells a million tales—

orange brewed, kola spiced intermingling corollary beauty braided mermaid

archangel of my constant Eden.

What are clouds? what is thunder?

what is breeze in turmoil without rain?

What is ash without salt? sea without water?

me without you? you without me?

occasional bursts of fury without rain;

fruits without seed seedtime without harvest.

VII. My ministering angel

your eye is half a lion's tooth ramming iodine into ribs of silence; a pa.s.sionate agony

it is your folly that will kill my bard.

Miner of words that sell only in your market ears

let them chirp let them mutter

the pot is ruler of snails as none dare marry fire to water, clamour for thunder in a season of drought.

Abandon the world by the bank of the stream

the crab never sleeps

the crab has sold its sleep like the drinkard sold his death.

Roll into my burrow swiftly in grace that will murder the angels

Dig into my castle establish your roots

pa.s.s a three-strand-motion in the parliament of G.o.ds.

Infect my blood stream the soul of my heart my ministering angel

And always

I knew I could

restart my destiny by shattering our silence

I await your thunder in

the realities of my dream…