the diamond is still a stone

what if the brilliance dazzles us

and the play of colors awe us?

the diamond is still a stone.

what if it seems perfectly built

and perfectly woos our greed

with the strangeness of its scarcity

the diamond is still a stone

what if we murder and pillage

and dismember our friends

to hide the cache we stole from our other friends

the diamond is still a stone

what if we adorn our crowns

and guard the realm with zeal

to provide sanctuary for the gem

the diamond is still a stone 

what if we construct fortunes

to allow us covet our neighbours fortunes

and trample his fields in search

the diamond is still a stone

what if we build an altar

and raise an order of levites

to mumble words that are just words

the diamond is still a stone.

We are of the earth

We who bury our umbilical cord in the soil 

We are of the earth

We who live in thatch

And mud houses that breath

We are of the earth

We who pour libations to the ancestors 

Libations of palm wine and cola nuts

We are of the earth

We who clear our patch 

Clear our patch and leave it to grow again

We are of the earth

We who catch our water from the clouds

And drink the brown rivulets coursing through the soil

We are of the earth

We who take what we need

And put it back again to bring forth again what we need

We are of the earth 

We who walk paths among the foliage

Our bare feet caressing the ants and the crickets

We are of the earth

We who eat the leaves and let the fruits fall for the bats

We who seek propitiation when the earth is angry

We are of the earth 

We who look up at the sky

And wonder at the expanse of the sky god

And acknowledge the minuteness of our footprints

We are of the earth

We who do not envy the stars of their starlight

Nor the earth of her riches

We are of the earth

We are of the earth

The Lament of the grasshopper

We will laugh at the ant

Scurrying from heap to heap

We will make merry while he toils

While he hefts grains broader than his chest

Up the log while the morning sings

Over the foliage while the dew leaves the leaves 

We will scamper in the undergrowth

Spread out our  wings to be tinged with the rainbow

Oh, we will greet the morning with a song

Tease the day with our play

Retire the night with our romance

We will laugh at the ant

At his stock of grains

And his stock of crumbs

Perfectly lined to please his eye

Wall to wall, floor to roof

We will follow him across the forest trail

Sipping the nectar he is too busy to see 

Exploring the side paths he can only wonder where they lead

He will hear our singing all day long

He will mark our laughter 

He will vow to see the flowers we have seen

To bask in the rainbow we had flown in

Oh how he will make us beg for warmth in his hearth

And for crumbs from his table

How he will stand on a pedestal

And lecture us, and wave at his hoard

Of grains and crumbs, stretching wall to wall

And we cannot bargain with the song in our heart

Nor share the memories of our adventures 

We cannot advance the taste of our romance

Nor trot out the singe of the rainbow. 

But it's our season

And we have made a reason

For the next season to come

The next season to come and find us frozen in the fields

Our memories floating in the air

For those who will once again dance in the rain. 

Bottle of memories

You may find this message
Years from now
Tossed wave to wave
From ocean trough to crested waves
Borne across ancestral paths
Directions baked into bones
From age to age
You may find my greetings in old script hard to decipher
My words parched by thirst
And confused by isolation
I was not lost, I can assure you
Not marooned on a remote isle
Overflowing with coconuts and curious monkeys
But I could not see beyond the walls
Of my crypt bejeweled in glass and concrete
My little prison of gold and anxiety
Of what has become of luxury
I could see the tops of my sky scrapers
Their bared teeth glistening in the sun
Their souls hanging on copper threads from pole to pole
I was not hungry either
Because chicken hatched in a day
And fattened in a day
Tomatoes grew right through the metal covers of metal stew pots
Smart foods looked through the window wishing they will be dinner
Dinner for the homeless man across the street
Breakfast for the little boy left beside the dry well in the African Sahel
I did not have enemies
Nor could I remember friends that remained friends
With grenades hidden in dinner bowls
It was hard to tell who gave the boy the machine gun
And the extra magazine to fill the school yard with corpses
You will find this message years later
You may find it hard to comprehend
The battle over who marries the man
A woman, a monkey or a mouse
Why the hand wringing over the family
Children are cooked in Petri dishes and adults formed on TV and video games
You will wonder why the creator we worship
Commands us to love and hate, to kill and save , to die in order to live
To venerate the meek and saintly
To kill them off for progress
You will wonder why I left you this message
Your world is not my world
Battles are fought from afar
And words have one letter each
The dreams we built have become your nightmares
The doves we raised have grown talons
Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

Melancholy

Melancholy is clay in memory's hands
Moulded into words, Moulded into songs
The heartbreak of losses of things never really owned
And of valor vanquished by superior malevolence
Melancholy gives purpose to the sculptors hammer
It chisels the roughness out of rocks and angrily builds armies that cannot defect
Warriors that cannot be toppled
Melancholy is the poets friend
A muse with a bag of words
Recreating memories best forgotten
Writing histories that never was.
Melancholy creates the passion to cherish
The assurance of things unseen and
The urge to destroy the ones we see.

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A death so suddenly died

A separation so dreaded has come
The harmattan marks the course of our tears with
Ravines and mastiffs in the wilderness of pain so suddenly painful
What do we tell the mother that remembers the pains of labour
The kite has carried off the chick
The eagle has snatched the lamb
The feast in their eyrie is torn from our hearts
What do we replace her hopes with?
A death so suddenly died
Laughter so suddenly stopped echoes in our loneliness
A memory so suddenly paused flickers still in our wails
What do we tell the cub that has lost a play mate?
The dog did not return the stick.
The chorus has gone with the singer
The koso is playing by itself
Who do we ask that will answer us?
Death so suddenly died
Memories so suddenly frozen.

For Chioma Ayogu.


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The wind brings me news

Silence is a blanket
Worn to restrain the cold fingers of knowing
But I can hear through the silence
I can hear the birth of new stars in faraway skies
I can hear the scream of light rays striking blue waters

Silence
Is the news that the wind brings
News of the conspiracy brewing in the air
The swallow and the kite
The dragon and the fly
The nothing and the stillness that follows.
The wind brings me news
Of expiring hearts left in the battlefield
The toe pokes of scavengers picking up the pieces of bravery
Bravery hung out to dry in the silence

The wind carries the smell of the kill
Laid out in the savannah
The wind leads the jackal and the hyena
Where the fallen returns to earth
The wind only asks me to listen
Listen to the silence
The loud silence of existence trying to exist
The emptiness that drives the addict back to the pipe
The hunger that drives the wealthy back to the toil
The vacant stare from life unlived

Silence is loud in imagination
Of what was said and what will be said and what could have been said
What was done or what could have been done
Regrets that come before the act.

The wind brings me news in the silence.




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