Hi Friends,
How are you all doing? Monday is usually quite a busy day and I don't want to go boring you all with my very very long long posts. So, instead, I am going to reel out a poem I wrote when in school.
Happy Reading. Wait wait, before you read, it would be good if you had a little bit knowledge of the history that inspired the poem. The Ilari guy who is the persona here is deeply steeped in the Ancient Yoruba royal setting. And though, he seems to have lost his relevance in the modern world, he is indeed an inspiration we could tap from. I wish I could give you quick breakdown of who the Ilari dude is, but why not read about him here- Page 114
ILARI
Five times, death has torn at the
Protective layers of your nine lives,
distilling the leopard's snore
from his sleep.
And
These five times,
My chest heaves to know this
My breath ceases thinking about it.
So i go, the way of the sow
Dirty, Naked
Where crickets' chirps become sonorous stanzas
And the night's woes, the Grecian chorus.
These five times, for my sake
Death has stayed his hands
swayed its lanky frame to the
beat of apology.
Because of who i am:
Ilari.
I, who am known to look away
from the deep lines on a Zebra's skin,
Now sees and chants about
the ripple in the brook at my backyard.
I, who never counts the meats
In my pot of soup, has begun to place
my ear against the wall and
recount old women's fables.
Even a parrot knows when to shun words
A towncrier can live without the sound of the gong
For me, I blab like a witch, confessing to save her last life.
But my groin, it makes no noise
bears no complaint
no longer itches for the soothing touch of Omobunmi.
I have become less of a man.
Because of who i am:
Ilari.
Yet,
Fajuyi must go.
He must tread the path that leads to the vultures rapacious den.
I must bring his head to be bequeathed to the blood thirsty craze of the godless axe.
Because of who i am:
Ilari.
Ah! Mercy, my king.
Ina tin parun
Omi atutu lara,
Mercy.
Ilari i may be
The shapeless head of a cock
I may bear
But my heart can not bear
to show the road to the scorpion's grave.
I know, i know
The snare of the butcher
has been set already.
But again, think
Think again, my lord
Because
For the Ilari you have made me,
I can only kill for you.
But make me your friend,
And I will die for you.