Tade Ipadeola

Pages: 1 2 3 4

III

 

Here, Fofana, friend of all my fathers,

Still inhales the Atlantic

Mingled with the scent of Kambiya Bolongo.

Conjuring ruptured memories, singing

A long song of this vanishing island

Strumming the khalam and the drum

For drums speak the language of spirits

And khalam’s music is the ransom for lost souls…

 

King Niumi’s Island, St Andrews Island, Fort James.

So many names for one island of sorrow

So many wars to own a phantom in the end.

Our congeries tend the tripod of hope

As tourists survey the remnants of the Island

Like probe instruments on a strange planet.

 


Pages: 1 2 3 4

2 Comments

2 Comments so far ↓
  • david udoinwang says:

    my hut’s
    by the beehive grove
    l love sweet honey
    but the bees wont let me be

    bee bee bee!
    your fangs are a dread to my breed

    in the midst of pomp
    and merry din
    i thirst
    in a dry
    and
    thirsty land

    for want of juice
    for want of life
    sweet honey sweet

    bee bee bee!
    o that i could
    but a lick of your comb
    like a man should do- Dav udoinwang

  • Chielozona Eze says:

    Beautiful. Man, you restore my faith in poetry as a source of nourishment for the spirit.

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