THAT GRAVEYARD
The morning keeps us silent,
Silent from each other. A line
Of textbooks, a row of pens,
2 skirts on 2 chairs in a
Compartment. You are there with
These ladies I know, but wish not to
Know. One of these ladies types the
Keypads of Steve Jobs' cranium,
The other reads a manual on how
To become a character in J.K Rowlings'
Fame.
I invite you to the other half of my
Clouts. A dead phone, plucked to
Life, 2 swivel seats calling for
Buttocks to caress. A part of your
Lineage spread on the smooth desk.
Now, darkness is now, we go to
That graveyard roofed with
Starry night. That graveyard i used
To push up your orgasm with
My frisky forefinger, and counted
The spangling nails of God, needling
The sky, that graveyard where no
Tombstone stands, where no
Epitaph is seen.
We are back into the
Afternoon, we are back doing
What we used to do in that darkened
Graveyard, when all eyeballs are
Buried inside their lids.
STANDING
Before you, mother Idoto,
naked I stand; - Christopher Okigbo
I stand here before you this
Metal god, with your head bigger
Than the rest of your body,
Like my siblings stricken by
Kwashiorkor.
I stand here before you, like
I stood here exactly one year,
Begging you to invent another father
For my craves, not one with a
Heart of stone, like the rock,
Not one with a friable heart,
Like rotten papaya. Mum had a
Friable heart, and intimidation cleaned
Up her voice, when dad swaggered
In with the keys of the car of his
Mistress dangling in his finger, like the
Bum of an Indian dancer. He brought
Out a bag under the bed, and packed
Out his dark deeds, tendered them on
The table where my sister was
Born. Angry for a reason, angry for
None,
We didn't perceive the perfume
That used to announce his arrival in
French anymore. We heard
Miscellaneous truths from rumour's
Mouth- we heard the Queen of Snow
Had him wrapped around her
Ring finger, we heard he would
Never see a cluster of black skins
Anymore. We Just heard and heard,
A herd of heard.
This woman knocked on our door,
Holding my father's identity with
Her right hand. She came to
Straighten our doubts, to
Clarify and verify the heartbreak
Dad spread on the table the other day.
The pond will remain
Still if no one stirred it, mum's reaction
Was a pond - still, after she heard the
woman. She caked her salient wrinkles
With white lead, compressed some
Of her finicky interest - yellow, white,
Black, green into a travel bag,
"Where's your mum?" Was the
Question that trailed her departure.
"Where's your mum?" A bearded man
asked the day-after-day-after she
Went. "She's with my baby." He would
Say and turn to turn the knob of our
Puzzlement.
I stand here before you this metal
God, your humongous eye, seeing
My past and my future, seeing my
Previous life and my next life,
I beseech you, if I ever have to live in
The world again, please grant me
Parents that comprehend the
Essence of doing deeds, where light
Stands!
The morning keeps us silent,
Silent from each other. A line
Of textbooks, a row of pens,
2 skirts on 2 chairs in a
Compartment. You are there with
These ladies I know, but wish not to
Know. One of these ladies types the
Keypads of Steve Jobs' cranium,
The other reads a manual on how
To become a character in J.K Rowlings'
Fame.
I invite you to the other half of my
Clouts. A dead phone, plucked to
Life, 2 swivel seats calling for
Buttocks to caress. A part of your
Lineage spread on the smooth desk.
Now, darkness is now, we go to
That graveyard roofed with
Starry night. That graveyard i used
To push up your orgasm with
My frisky forefinger, and counted
The spangling nails of God, needling
The sky, that graveyard where no
Tombstone stands, where no
Epitaph is seen.
We are back into the
Afternoon, we are back doing
What we used to do in that darkened
Graveyard, when all eyeballs are
Buried inside their lids.
STANDING
Before you, mother Idoto,
naked I stand; - Christopher Okigbo
I stand here before you this
Metal god, with your head bigger
Than the rest of your body,
Like my siblings stricken by
Kwashiorkor.
I stand here before you, like
I stood here exactly one year,
Begging you to invent another father
For my craves, not one with a
Heart of stone, like the rock,
Not one with a friable heart,
Like rotten papaya. Mum had a
Friable heart, and intimidation cleaned
Up her voice, when dad swaggered
In with the keys of the car of his
Mistress dangling in his finger, like the
Bum of an Indian dancer. He brought
Out a bag under the bed, and packed
Out his dark deeds, tendered them on
The table where my sister was
Born. Angry for a reason, angry for
None,
We didn't perceive the perfume
That used to announce his arrival in
French anymore. We heard
Miscellaneous truths from rumour's
Mouth- we heard the Queen of Snow
Had him wrapped around her
Ring finger, we heard he would
Never see a cluster of black skins
Anymore. We Just heard and heard,
A herd of heard.
This woman knocked on our door,
Holding my father's identity with
Her right hand. She came to
Straighten our doubts, to
Clarify and verify the heartbreak
Dad spread on the table the other day.
The pond will remain
Still if no one stirred it, mum's reaction
Was a pond - still, after she heard the
woman. She caked her salient wrinkles
With white lead, compressed some
Of her finicky interest - yellow, white,
Black, green into a travel bag,
"Where's your mum?" Was the
Question that trailed her departure.
"Where's your mum?" A bearded man
asked the day-after-day-after she
Went. "She's with my baby." He would
Say and turn to turn the knob of our
Puzzlement.
I stand here before you this metal
God, your humongous eye, seeing
My past and my future, seeing my
Previous life and my next life,
I beseech you, if I ever have to live in
The world again, please grant me
Parents that comprehend the
Essence of doing deeds, where light
Stands!
