Saints' Lament

You cleared the space with seduction
        quoted the saints of hell
 who mourned the loss your faith

I laid you bare like folded pages
  opened your folded pages
      and led you to death

You called me Christ
   asked of my name
for the witches' broken pots  

    The saints lamented the loss of your faith
The witches lamented the breaking of the pots
        You called the smith. He brought a snail
       You called the spider. He brought a snail a needle
               The smith gathered the broken pots
                The spider needled the broken pots
                The snail soldered the broken pots

                You wailed and ran to the forest
                        The forest followed you
                         You jumped to the road
                   The four hundred sisters followed you
                   Beware, the road is slippery when wet
              
                      The road is slippery when it is wet
                             You beckoned to the fish
                            It splashed you with okra
                      They sowed your path with thorns
                         called twelve men to follow you
                             and cobwebs to entangle you
                   to the place where saints hold their lament

                       You called to the viper for his skin
                   The python appeared, shook his eyes at you
                          You  cleared the space with seduction
                                         quoted the saints of hell
         
                         who mourned the loss of your faith
                              You called to me for your name
                                  I opened you like a book
                               Borrowed the head of  the python
                                         Into your temple
                                         Where I built my Church.              

To The Unheard Voice
                                  [For Nwachukwu]

I have drunken of the deep.
I have heard mermaids singing.
Our paths have branched to the road not taken

This is a period of silence.
The audience retain their body.
But the masquerade dances to secret tones of the dead.
This is a period of silence.
You too can hear mermaids singing in the night.
Between the deep, under the crevices of the towering rapids.
You too can partake in the ritual of the masquerade.
But our paths have branched to the road not taken.

We danced to the virginal throbs of the jungle.
Then it was our circumcision to silence.
But those spirits gave us the pots.
What was in your pot, son of God?
There was no reptile when I broke my gift.

You too can hear mermaids singing.
You too can hear winds raving in the wild.
The thunder too can play jazz.
But have you drunken of the deep?

This is a period of silence.
This silence sings of rituals.
These rituals sing of spirits.
When you will listen to mermaids singing their strange songs in the deep.

Does your pot contain sacred songs now?
Then you will rise above the folds.
Then you will soar.
Then you will lose your flesh and dance a mermaid's dance.

Haven't you seen them in the noons making strange marks in the sand?

Did you think they sang of you then?
Did you think they danced to the raw beats of your jungle?

I have worn those masks, son of God.
They carved me in woods
They painted me red, yellow and white
The painted me black.
They made me a woman.
And like Ekwuefi searching for her husband among the audience
You did not see me in the crowd.
But I was agboghommo sparkling like scattered gold in the sun.
I danced in the noons making mysteries to the seventh earth.

You thought I was colourful then, son of God.
You thought I was making music for an incoming madness.
But I was just agboghommo learning the secrets of the mermaids.