Frankly Dedoyin

We are haunted by the blood of our ancestors. The angry spirits of our gods. I travelled several heavens 'til I was forced into this dank part where the sun never shines. I was born by the river bank in the presence of the celestial spirits of our ancestors while the older women laboured over my mother in the middle of the cloudless night. I remember, now like then, it was dark... eerily dark I started crying. The jetty was dead quiet except for the crackling of weak fire and frogs croaking for their lovers. This place I was told was so named for the abomination it is - THE LAND OF THE WITCHES. Thirty-six they were in their coven; they represented the thirty six clans in our village. For any visitor, one might see an almost disintegrated wooden sign post perched at a corner on the mouth of the riverine settlement. The sign read in an ominously whimsical handwriting - BEWARE! THE WICKEDNESS OF THE LAND. In the village, you might catch a hazy glimpse of a tragic wonder -

NEW LIFE I need a rebirth A new life Of miracles, Devoid of ill winds. A perfect haven of pure tranquility Like a supernatural elixir Inspiring my mind Guiding my every stride Down this eerie wilderness of Becoming... I need a fresh boom To send my doom to its tomb That kills my fears A clean slate, Devoid of yesterday shame Free from the muckiness Of all mental prisons. I need a sweet tomorrow Harvest of the most enthralling, Collages of happiness. Love unconstrained Baubles of restoration, Recovery and hope, A touch of healing... Give me all - every new day - This year.

Title: SECRETS Number of lines: 20 Written by: Akinmayowa Adedoyin Shobo (Nigeria) SECRETS Were our secrets a footstep What a great crevice it would be, More than a thousand earth mower. Were our secrets a trail It would slither like serpents Down an endless maze, we eventually get lost. Were our secrets the great waters of the earth It would be a great Tsunami Devouring everything in its path. Were our secrets a road sign It would surely lead – To the broad streets of Hell. Our secrets are a breathing natural disaster Waiting to happen. Maybe it is just fine to keep secrets secret.

RIPPLES (A 5-minute trance) Over a pool, she steps Fast, stains, red. A drop, Engenders current of images; Like a hologram. One, holds an infant-girl with a straw hat She begins school in the Sahel. Over a pool, she dips one cold night Disciples-in-distress, Sold into child sex slavery, A bolder reality of gloom Death trapped in the locks of her hair. A puerile soul – Bounded by the “love of God” 'Duty-bound to please her lord The virgin gift. Over a pool, she soars into the ‘holies’ Shards of glass flying across realms In the street, her death-locks run wild Trails of bodies crisscross into dust. Beware all sinners and saints!!! Where she goes, The scalding ripples of terror follows.

Title: For A Great Name Written by: Akinmayowa Adedoyin Shobo (Nigeria) Path to success (For a Great Name) Voices arise from the brown hills Little creatures skirting the dusty routes, Of the township Around us – The stench from the billies. We had a dream Boarded across a parched path A course worn out by the feet of our forefathers The checkpoints to success – Ten of them, we are told ( Iwe mewa ). Into our minds, Rolling drums of razor-sharp rune beat merciless The reward - A bouquet of gleaming legacy As awaits the worthy. Faithful, We stand in line for the gashing of our mortal hides Till we learn the letters of life; How our faces smiled To a blissful journey thence. Blinded we by juvenile passion Sweet wounds we bear The great name of our ancestors, we esteem A quest to fulfill As the ones before us. Note: Iwe mewa denotes the educationally system of Nigeria translated in Yoruba language.

Title: Dear Village Written by: Akinmayowa Adedoyin Shobo (Nigeria) Path to success (Dear Village) Dear Village, In our pen-craft we sail The ancient route of the wisdom Much-travelled road to greatness. Into the roaring waters Haunted by ghosts of the ones before us We are capsized, fed to the sea We are lost. Persecuted yet, we march on this quest. Dear Village, In our hands bear, Gem-plated jars filled with flotsams of blasted hopes The certificates we bear, Hung as a millstone about our necks. Dear Village, Those dreams we bore ten years have become men With heaviness in their souls, they lament They still hear the same voices Behind the brown hills Lines made by the strange little creatures The stench of the billies. On the path to success. Still we are - Artists, Sworn to paint you a picturesque future.

MY COUNTRY HOME My country home is an exquisite banquet room Calmly – it sleeps, beneath the eye of our celestial keepers Sewn in the apparel of the red hills A cornucopia - Of the most sumptuous delicacies sprawling the nooks Essence-scenting servings hanging from nature's treasure trove Eat thereof, Grow. My country home is a great farmstead An assortment of yield vast as the streams therein Its mountain-high heads of cereals, Robust as the mighty tubers sprout, Spewing rich harvests of cultural staples, Daubed across the face of the rift valley, We drink of its elixir of wisdom flow. My country home is the theatre room of the human race Interminable baby-booming seasons, Bellies round with a pot-pourri of local dishes, Blooming native herbs - Each potent, like juju wrapped in baubles dripping from rooftops Against lurking evil spirits, We dance and feast till morning crow.

Title: THE DEAD’S PLEA Number of lines: 14 Written by: Akinmayowa Adedoyin Shobo Tell me I plead! Tell me!! How loud, Can the ghosts of our slain heroes scream? How hard, Can this immortal company nudge the survivors of war? Exactly what measure of pain would be sufficient? To be noticed. Tell me I plead! Tell me!! Scream out loud See 20: 20 across the land of the living Hear at the highest spectra of sound Cry if you please The earth is too numb To be alive.

ANGELS LIKE HIM Born of no ordinary woman: A prophetic birth The man of the people For nothing he cared But his chaplet, sandals And a singeing voice. Sanctified by God himself An arch-angel among angels and many men; Leading the redemption horde  On chariots whose fire never dies. For justice he fought fearless Against the beautiful beast. The king is fallen: A crown gleams in the noon sun Beside his lifeless body. Buried between these rivulets; Of blood and brass shells Lay angels like him...

AUTHOR: Shobo, Akinmayowa Adedoyin COUNTRY: Nigeria ABEL When Abel was slain Sweet lamentations rained – Prayed they, our souls Yet poison howitzers we train, ‘Til our ancestral home turn mass grave. When Abel was slain “The Borderless waters” called we, Now two cities bothered by thorny walls Each party howling runes of terror, Buried we - the memories of our sworn allegiance. When Abel was slain In our innocence, we defied puerile fears Made sport of wild beasts Us versus the world: a two-man legion The tragedy of our righteous wrath. When Abel was slain All joy drifted seawards in urns of sorrow Sold for garlands – of shame and vain glory, While tomorrow festers to an unforgiving spirit.