POETRY

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






CLAMOUR WE ALL

Clamour we all
For Power
To act
To Change
To deify
To 'demonify'
To wield absolutes
Over lesser
Mortals.

Clamour we all
For Power
To stand
As Kings
To soar
Like Eagles
Roar
Like lions
To own
The jungle.

Clamour we all
For Power
To depose
Like gods
Repose
Like angels
Wave wands
Like fairies
And wrest
The universe
Into
Our Private Domain.

Clamour for,
But the ultimate
Aphrodisiac ;
NAY
The final
Psychedelics:
                 The Trappings
                 Of Addiction, and
               A conundrum
                                     of altered self perceptions
                                    Inebriated self consciousness...

...A GALAXY
   That revolves
   but in the palm
  Of our little hands.



[Written by Victor O. Sawyerr. June 1st 2016]

[Acknowledgement: "Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac"... Henry Kissinger Former Secretary of State, USA ]



#JeSuisCharlie.

Je Suis Charlie

I am
the laughter
in your heart
when you savor
the skewed views
of our collective
 Insanity.
I am
The ink
that tells your shame,
My shame--
The ink
that cartoons your foibles
and mine too
-- harshly,
and sometimes cruelly.
But still,
The ink
that draws your laughter,
may be your dismay
and sometimes your vitriol
when i proclaim
that I am Christian,
Moslem , Jewish , Hindi , Atheist.
I am
the ink
that provokes your ire
when i satirize
your Obatala,
Sopona, and Ogoun.
But again,
I am
the ink
That speaks
for your right to have a right.
I am
the ink
that bathes Generals
in the market place
and beats the drums
to which Presidents dance
on the paved pages
 of my naked tabloids.
I am
the ink
that simply tells a story:
That may provoke
Your anger or tickle your fancy :
The ink that tells :
You can tell your story too,
And you can tell my story too:
BECAUSE:
I am
simply
the ink
that fears not
to satirize
your guts;
the ink
that fears not
to fear --
because I am
simply:
#JeSuisCharlie.
[Words and ideas from the mind of Victor Omotayo Sawyerr.10/1/2014. Pls share and join the : I am Charlie campaign]