Before the city grew teeth of storeys,
Every road was once a footpath of dark earth,
Every skyline a village dream feigning height.
The whirlwind arrives like an ancestral drum,
Beating zinc roofs into memory,
While the soil drinks without question.
Maize rises like angry dust,
Crops sleep beneath the earth like buried wealth,
The old iroko keeps census of generations.
We call ourselves urban, as if asphalt
Could bleach the village from our blood,
As if language could divorce us from reality.
Every man carries an ancestral footpath,
Every woman a forgotten rib in the bones,
Every last name is a door to somewhere rural.
The city is only a village that learnt to disguise itself,
And civilisation, perhaps, is merely distance,
From the stream that first taught us to swim.
When the rain smells of the earth,
Listen keenly—the village speaks through you;
Everyone is a village man, even in hired suits.
From Vandeikya to Eko sluthers the same rhythm,
Only the midriff of imagination pats on them.
She walks swaying hers hips
Propelled by the heeled shoes
Sound from the walk likened to a cat
Causing a stare, all eyes on her
Sisi Eko!! on the stage
Lipstick sticking like smudge
Eyelashes and makeup, rainbow
colours running riot.
Seduction art form, appearances
For the highest bidder.
Sisi Eko on the stage where she
Exhales the most.
Sisi Eko on the rampage holding
Sway.
(Written on the 9th of June, 2015)
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The streets of Lagos
Snort odours of variant origins
Whilst watching their breath claw its way
Into the breathing hole of man
The feet of Lagos
Speedily catapulting legs forward
Dance to the howling of cars
On these burdened streets
Thrashing and striking chords mercilessly
The cacophonous orchestra of man and Danfo
Creates a vortex of peaceful chaos
On these weary yet wary streets
With legs dangling in the waters
And sitting on the edge of a phenomenon,
The nature of man it wields
Half beautiful, half grotesque
ISALE EKO (LAGOS)
A rooster of discrete tongues
Culture, tradition
Where,
Zillion specters resonate
Quantum croak.
Cock crow,
Erupts whirl, barge at Alaba
Descry of sea of soul cases
Kibbling in, out as Emmet over nectar,
As husky ell of murk drench dawning,
Eviscerate NEPA's spasmodic spitfire
To stupor, obloquy.
The hindmost geezer nestling,
Drenched in diaphoresis of animation of dog days
Eludes unforgiving hail of bug blitz,
Hallowed howl of ole! ole!
Arched in his decrepit nest
Deploys a taper
Until,
Sunup deflowers night jaded sockets
As,
Resonance of one more Naira
To breast billion mark
Percase, perforce, precipitating
The epogee in mores
Rummages his cranium:
Top dog never capitulates
Vanquish countermands blossom
In kernel of hovel, wreck, quagmire
From mainlands of Iddo,
Bog of Badagry
To Favela of Ijora, Ilasamaja
Colonize the cocoon
Which,
Burgeoned Whiz Kid, Davido and Nollywood
Confuting phantasm
That,
Golden fleece
Is muted in the jaws of no man's land.
A colossus who never unwinds
No arrears in innuendos
Paris is your headrest
Rio de Janeiro your ottoman!
Abiku!
Friend nor foe
Named from above.
A gift from the yard of elegbara
Olagbegi's kicking hope.
Abiku!
A dashing beauty she's bestowed,
enough to light a father's grope.
Abiku!
Asake's grace in barrenness.
Off and on, she would not mind
'Come, and i will call you mine,
'Mother' till then i'll bear'.
Abiku! Abiku!! Abiku!!!
Touch her not, she might live
One who dines with ebora dudu,
a company when she is set to leave.
Abiku!
Your visit i do not beseech.
Your mercy i only seek.
Ekuru and eko wine to your descent,
gracing the feet of oluwere.
Abiku!
In tears you delight
Merriness you found in sorrow.
Leave and never come back
One who feeds on her mother's back.
Abiku!
Shame, you have cursed till eternity
In flame, yet you are never tamed.
One whose trowel never dries,
From the cries of hopeless eyes.
Abiku!!!
THE JOYS OF OUR MOTHER
Before Eko learn how to pronounce his name,
Let him learn to brother his brothers
And the older brothers from broader brother too.
For this is the way of the soldier-ants
Who will never bid a bleeding brother by the border.
Right from 1914
When our mothers bled out tears from their pristine vagina,
Till the early sixties
When our big uncles
fought a viscous battle with the European battalions
To ensure our liberty;
We've been here tangoing.
And now, let the dance continue
And the music knows no stop.
For together, we drank the frowzy portion from Nigeria
When the 'Long-Noses' sell their language to us.
Oh! I'll keep calling my brother's name with it
And my brothers, mine.
The warm-fuzzies of drinking in this jorum
Shall be; when a load is to be carried,
The whole fingers lend in their strength.
The broom never sweep with a stick.
The soldier-ants never barricade with just a soldier
So, when I answer my brother's name
And he answers mine too,
Mother will nod from her grave
"These are my sons".
And our voice shall pierce through the desert wind
To take our message to gods who feed on children skull.
Moon-she, I long to behold you again,
That mouth watering lady I grew around;
I long to see your embeamed and painted face again.
To see those women squat publicly to urinate,
To see those teenagers puff out smoke happily,
To touch the honey skirt ladies that
Entangle a lust lost eyes into ruin while still living.
O moon-she, my love! You are not a moon-chain,
Mushin is never good for your kind but moon-she
As mother throw praises to your honeyed body.
I have your skyscraping bungalow in my eyes,
I have the hustling and hush movement clothed my legs.
I have known the fragrance of your body,
That old dame body odour that makes me joyful.
Your shoes have I worn about Lagos streets and
I felt accepted among the titans around town.
Oh moon-she,you are not a mushin but moon-she.
I still remember the taste of your breast milk;
That milk that is not channeled in one direction.
I know mother Eko, I know you moon-she.
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016
rab chadea c tenu rab keh k
bhul hoi satho ,mani dukh
seh k
koi banea na rab es jag reh k
rab chadea c tenu rab keh k
jind mag lendi hunda na koi
dukh ni
tere aaun nal aayea c ek sukh
ni
tu sade jeun da eko ek mukh
c
bhuli tu sanu sadi hye !
ho k
rab chadea c tenu rab keh k
pta hunda tere andher chor c
rok lenda dil nu ,
na aaunda ena kol ni
teri najra nu hye !
pehchan k
dukh hoyea dilon tenu jan k
lutea tu sanu dil ch reh k
rab chadea c tenu rab keh k
Weaker sex we’re known and termed,
We are made idle like lexis
Without structure to construct sentences.
They treat us as infants for we’re fragile;
To rear offspring we’re considered fertile
’Tis then we would be teased as agile.
Stop creating professionalism based on agile from fragile,
We’re gifted as you are and fertile;
Blessed with abundant power and charisma!
Where were you when Moremi Ajaasoro
Persisted and resisted the threats of the Ugbo raiders,
She rebelled when many men trembled?
Where were you when Efunroye Tinubu
The great Amazon of Eko land, mutinied
Against alien plans of the colonial consuls?
Where were you when Iyalode of Ibadan
Overthrew the entirety of old-Ibadan land
Whilst men of complex cablire were used as luxury?
Where were you when Idia of Benin
Led many men to war against the Igala
And returned with victory to Benin?
We’re equally up to the task,
Still we’re agile and fertile as the past,
You’re on our path please pathway!
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