To Wole Soyinka

Ah, I don’t wish to be you
And please, do not be me.
Not that you’re trying
But with incubus, you never know.
I am creeping to the personage
But not for holy water.
Since I was thrown out of Osugho
I have become a vicious egungun,
Can’t cook the alphabet soup
But I lick the verbs every Sunday-
Detained at birth by Negritude
Forced to enjoy the dance of the dead
And kinky silence of the interpreters.
As I prostrate in adoration
My knees kiss the footmarks of spirits,
I wonder where I shall hide my shadow
When the heavens come to harvest.
For you, gong and drums scream
One tree, one forest
One forest, one Kongi.
Forget the weeping Lion
Get me the breaded lizard.
I won’t pimp my Ikenga
To impress the donkey man,
Sycophants are specialists too
In service of our recovering scourge.
Trial of your quaking quill
Is my calabash of choice;
Ah, would have loved to be you
But it’s a little too late.

Rudolf Ogoo Okonkwo is a freelance writer based in New York. His first book, Children of A Retired God, will be published in September.

posted on 11-10-2005, 22:53:33 PM

Robot

[] To Wole Soyinka

Ah, I don't wish to be youAnd please, do not be me.Not that you're tryingBut with incubus, you never know.I am creeping to the personageBut not for holy water.Since I was thrown out of OsughoI have become a vicious egungun,Can't cook the alphabet soupBut I lick the verbs every Sunday-Detained at birth by NegritudeForced to enjoy the dance of the deadAnd kinky silence of the interpreters.As I prostrate in adorationMy knees kiss the footmarks of spirits,I wonder where I shall hide my shadowWhen the heavens come to harvest.For you, gong an...[URL=http://www.nigeriavillagesquare.com//index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=836]Read the full article.[/URL]

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