A SONG OF MOURNING
The body learning to pray onto itself,
The sky waking up in dead limbs,
My mouth,
My heart
falling like a wingless bird
into a song.
A moment’s silence for those that have died
on this path,
Fireflies are bursting into flames.
I await my turn,
A moment’s silence for my heart on fire.
—————
most times
The heart holds everything the mouth
cannot say,
The hill is also a lover
and its words are trapped in trees
and grasses.
I admit I thought love was another word
for rapture, a fantasy in the mouth
of a man speaking in tongues.
today I walked round this city
and all I saw was a sky
filled with fog and the promise of sun,
what are all these metaphors for if not
for sex. I apologize,
the poem of my heart
is your heart and nothing
can write it except water
and the sea within our palms.
There’s also another poem in your lungs. Breath.
—————
PRAYER
The first offering is the breath within a stem.
Grandma said:
to live here you have to open
your mouth to the language of roots.
mellons are cherubs
waiting within the womb of God.
Peppers are songs of angels
bringing rain to a land on fire.
At the back of my head
I still hear her voice –
Priestess of the land,
clad in veins and knowledge
of fire and kites –
as she plants her maize on my tongue:
The rain is a messenger of vegetables,
The brown earth running through
her fingers is the heart of God. Pray.
—————
Poems: Romeo Oriogun
Image: Pixabay.com
We must teach our children that their history did not begin with slavery, with exploitation, with gross neglect and abandonment, but that it stretches far back across ancient times. Black is beautiful. We built kingdoms and civilisations, we were also poets, artists, painters, inventors, healers, teachers, leaders, and we started revolutions, we started movements, besides being mothers and fathers, besides being freedom fighters. We are artists and architects, painters and inventors, we are healers, teachers and leaders, and we are still fighting for our personal freedom and human rights. What our children face on a daily basis, key figures such as Frantz Fanon, Winnie and Nelson Mandela, Albert Luthuli, Mzi Mahola, Athol Fugard, Malcolm X and Maya Angelou have faced. One constant on the African continent has always been slavery, racial discrimination and colonialism. We must begin to understand what is meant by the concept of our “blackness”, our black and brown skin, our black vulnerability and black stigma. Our nationality is “black is beautiful”. Our nationality is that “brown is beautiful”, and those are powerful truths. Our children must never again be defined by systemic racism, abuse, domestic violence, xenophobia, Islamaphobia, afrophobia, by their disability, by apartheid, and by colonialism. No, never again. Know your history, understand where you come from, don’t tolerate discrimination or dehumanization. All children on the face of this planet must be taught this. No longer must we be manipulated and shamed by the colonial scheme. As Charles F. Kettering said, “Every father should remember one day his son will follow his example, not his advice.” That is what we are seeing today. It is the parent speaking through the child. The vision of the parent, their thoughts, deeds, actions, whether they are positive or negative, exploitative, or selfless. Know who you are black child, brown child, whether you live in a subeconomic or rural area. You no longer have to inhabit the dream of living in a democratic country, you are the architect of the design of your future. Be! You can make history young again. Always remember, the battle is not the same as the quarrel.
The poet speaks louder than silence, louder than history, louder than exile.