I have seen my ghost! The moon wears rags, tatters. Methuselah-times unnumbered, has she been stripped naked, raped by the scorching sun, whose age I fail to fancy. The salt has lost its savour; lakes now boast of deserts. I have seen my ghost! The scanty grey hairs hanging on head, drops tadpoles swimming into saltless seas. Floods of failure, of falling, flushes my first fingers; The sailor has lost his compass; the ship must sail alone till she sinks down the black sea. I have seen my ghost! The proud hands of Iroko trees has hidden the roots of the Kola from the eager eyes of crows; Nobody seems to notice the anthill down the hill; The Fisher is short of earthworms; the market must dance to the music, though the rhythm be rough. I have seen my ghost! The only oasis in the Sahara now speaks of ashes, ashes, ashes- not even a dew-drop for the chameleon whose skin colour remains static in these trying times, of famine, of drought; The cock has failed to crow the usual morning kukuruku: we heard she lost her voice last night to heaps of poisoned dry corns used as bait for stubborn goats. Cant you see my ghost? The bougainvillea did not bud; her stalk, now like flakes is now to bees, a laughing stalk; her petals, now in fetters. The lilies now lie face-down, none would see the rising sun. None, not one. I have seen my ghost! Zogie Iyeomoan, (c) 2014.
Posted on: Wed, 03 Dec 2014 02:29:00 +0000
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