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