Drop on my radio
Abiodun Adekoya
This is hard to believe
Better believe it because it is the truth of life
That water has no hands
But drag sands with arms of energy
And ripples created
This is hard to believe
Better believe it because it is the truth of life
That water has no hands
But drag sands with arms of energy
And ripples created
Without you
My love would have slept alone in a desert
I would have seen you on the street
Without knowing that we are meant for each other
Without you
I
To be a poet in capitalistic America is a rebellious act. When it comes to manifestos, I change the subject. Does the poem care whether you have expectations or not?
Hurrah! to them who do nothing
see nothing feel nothing whose
hearts are fitted with prudence
like a diaphragm across
womb’s beckoning doorway to bar
the scandal of seminal rage.
See the golden Leopard with the spots!
The golden cat of the cliffs!
See the Leopard with the bulging cheeks,
The golden Leopard with the wide face, I-Face-
Nothing,
The
Slow
As a limping cow
Or a mighty bull
With it legs spilt in two
A great black spider comes out of the earth,
And climb up the wall,
Then
Gentle I go
When her glimpse
Attracted my coming back.
Gentle I laid
Hand round her shoulder
And felt the surrounding with lust.
I broke at last
the terror-fringed fascination
that bound my ancient gaze
to those crowding faces
of plunder and seized my
remnant life in a miracle
of decision between white-<br
I came back home and retired to my couch
Walking on a deviant road
Which seemed exciting but weary like a long voyage
I saw one imp spiteful like an
Hello dear moon
Aged long sitting on a lush soil
And gentle like a breath of life.
Send me your content
That wield children firmly to grandma’s tales
And stick adults
Something in altitude kindles power-thirst
Mere horse-height suffices the emir
Bestowing from rich folds of prodigious turban
Upon crawling peasants in the dust
Rare imperceptible nods enwrapped
In princely boredom.
I
In vain your bangles cast
Charmed circles at my feet
I am Abiku, calling for the first
And repeated time.
Must I weep for goats and cowries
For palm oil and