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

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