The sculpted frames crawl, crawl
Into thickets of twine and thistle
The sky’s orange eye peers, pries
On the Iroko’s listless shade
The gorillas’ percussions buried
Beneath the Omele and Gangan’s enchantment
Rhythms splash against the gourd’s back
Shielding the palm wine-drunk ground
Belches savouring the seasoned bones of the Impala
As shadows lost under feet, all
The dial points home; eastwardsThe travelling vane of the opponents
Of the mild crimson sun
Heads roll back to homeland banks.
Camels trudge across borderless sands
Like the tortoise’s endless voyage
The village now with silence, domed.
The crown has been immersed in joyful-sorrow
Six feet in the palms of the grave
Plains drunk with the envy of the fiesta
Yearning to inflict yet another monsoon of wails,
A breath of stillness
On the inhabitants’ consciousness
Gbam! The giant white sphere sticks to the dark skies,
A bellow thunders, quakes the ground and seizes the seas.
I am death,
King over the farmlands,
Lord of the famish.
(c) 2005, Olusegun Adekoye