Ipohunrere: Lament of an internally displaced lad

By Fawole Emmanuel
Creative writer, The Arts Firm
(CoNnect Media House)

poetry lament

IPOHUNRERE: LAMENT OF AN INTERNALLY DISPLACED LAD
.
From what edge shall I begin to number my misplacements
For a christening?
Or what does bears the steam to erode from my heart
The permanently edified monument that will reign for aeons?
Even a solstical day will be weak to hold up my saga;
One caused me and likes by the valiant heralds of death—
The sanctimonious practitioners of their faith.
*
Like a theatrical issuance, it all sprang.
All Dick, Tom and Harry have decoded it as a come-and-go
Act of the brainwashed agents of massacre,
Knowledge-void of its come-to-stay.
How benignant it would have effected
To have sever its tentacles from the scratch.
Now, I’m drifting; drifting in the cold breeze of petrifaction.
*
Where is the paternal scold?
Where has the maternal chastisement
Which restrains me from victualling on excreta with dogs
Made its hide out?
Hmm… the earth has preyed on them.
The brotherly and sisterly warmth I savour
Have exited, leaving me with indispensable heat.
My blood floods the subterranean reservoir.
*
Till what century shall nostalgia keep recurring?
Will my teary Nile every know dryness?
Will Heavens in their frenzy ever vindicate me and ilks?
When will this desolate land ever know fruitfulness again?
Will my back ever feel the warmth of the satchel again?
Can assimilation even ever know my domain again?
Why must I be displaced?
*
From time of revel has distress been drawn.
The trepidation posed by weapon has startled my mind.
The incessant sounds of bombs and grenades
Have drained the man left in me.
Aaah… now that I needs must survive,
Where shall the pieces of my broken pitcher begin to be packed?
*
These little eyes of mine
Have discerned that which is older than them.
My hands I understand are immature,
But with them, cold-cum-stiff-cum-motionless
Entities have they felt.
My skull is full.
Even the earth is small to bear my knowledge-cum-experience;
A precocious me.
*
O fate,
Where art thou?
Manifest before me to name your deeds?
Why have you dispersed me amongst thorns?
Where have I chosen it wrongly?
Stay not mute.
Count for your act.
I am too tender to abide under your hegemony.
*
Heaven,
Is it not acclaimed that on your right side
Do children take solace?
Why must I live an exception?
Why do my counterparts in other terrains
Feel life with a contradictory sight of tranquility?
Fold not your arm to give my enquiry a feedback, Heaven.
*
I-will-be-your-father will never father the fatherless.
I-will-be-your-mother will never mother the motherless.
All strive to rip me off my worries are attempts.
All attempts to heal my wounds will only dredge it up.
Leave me to dance to the beat of life.
Let me vagabond this land till the end of time.
Let life provision me all it has to provision.
Drifting I will be till death comes knocking at my rickety door.


#MayTheGrievedBeRelieved


Fawole Immanuel Taiwo
Penning The Penable

 

Fawole Emmanuel is a fresh student of Obafemi Awolowo University, department of Philosophy. A skilled writer of drama, prose and poetry. Reach him on 08104580308.

Official Publisher: CoNnect Media House

– Media arts department, The Arts Firm.

©2016
CoNnect Media House
The Arts Firm
theartsfirm.wordpress.com

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