Saturday, 20 June 2015

MASSES

MASSES



1

Single, lonesome, emaciated,
cachexic ribs flesh out the remains
of my marasmic body.

2

My brain designs parody.
The veins of my skull
form rivulets of blood
that course their way
from the depths of my sockets,
drilled from the innermost corners
of its waterbed
and overflowing
the basins of its lachrymal ducts.

3

Weary of my journey,
a thousand miles
neither here nor there,
with a body bereft of its juices,
I rest on the robust bark
[naked, yes very stark]
of an ageless Iroko1
which,
untouched by my spiritless look,
continued
basking in all its glory,
coloured by the glittering shimmers
cascading from the orange skies.

4

A moment:
It threw
a disdained glance
at my wretched corpus
while I,
sampling the last drops
of unprofaned Ogogoro2
from my near-dry calabash
shifted weights
from my pencil-thin left fibula
to the right--just as fragile,
as pictures
of Kongi's3 harvest
whirled
in the near recesses
of my fagged out memory:
Now they're here
Now they're not.

5

But me,
shackled to my wants
Imprisoned,
yet not in prison
dismayed, despaired and despondent
I shudder,
and roar my spirit to life
pushing my will
hoping for movement,
but not a single budge
from weary, un-oiled joints.

6

I resign.
This now
must be my final stop.
Sudden:
The leaves
Of the ageless Iroko,
sway to the raucous tunes
of a boisterous wind
as ,
I clutch
its bark,
willing elusive stability
on my terms,
and, for just me.
But,
all futility!

7

Sampling
a moment's stillness
from the eerie, distant quietness,
a new beat
sieves into my consciousness,
and new steps too:
A new hustle
A new drumming
forcing,
my weary eyes
to gear its strength to focus.
But every weakened ocular muscle,
every sinew, every fibre's hustle
could only muster
a piece
devoid of lustre ,
trailed
by presbyopic lenses.

8

Then
they drew by:
hijackers,
shielding,
leading
the maiden called Change
My one betrothed beauty,
stolen,
by those
more powerful
than I
could ever be.

9

Powerless,
I simply watch:
And here now,
above my head,
a congregation
of flying foxes
irritated by the noise
fluffed
their velvet shoulder furs
and dispersed--
away,
along with the hazy dust.

10

Troubled
by the sight
I push
with all my strength
to emancipate Me.
But
weakened muscles
only drop me:
Prostrate--
The shameful hue
and shadows
spelling out
my shameful name: Masses,
painted
on the striations
of my fleshless back.

                  Written by Victor Omotayo Sawyerr
                                      17/06/2015

Notes:

Iroko1 : A hardwood tree, mythically believed to be powerful

Ogogoro2: Locally brewed pure alcohol. It is sometimes adulterated, (dangerously so) with methanol
Kongi's Harvest3: A play by Nigeria's Nobel Laureate, Wole Soyinka

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