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Captive No More (Part VII)
The mighty and resplendent Iya Iroko
tree had remained rooted
to the same spot
near the Oba river
for three hundred and sixty-four seasons
watching the ways of humans
from the viewpoint of a plant
under which folks sat
WEAPONIZING MEAT
WEAPONIZING MEAT What is at stake in Nigeria is much more than the crisis of the…
Make more children.
Make more children.
Many, many, many, more children.
More and more and more.
Àmọ̀tẹ́kùn kids.
Let every Amotekun woman produce ten.
Let every Amotekun man make 50.
There is food in the land to feed them.
To My Unborn Child
To My Unborn Child Learn to listen Between the lines. Words are nothing but mesmerizing sounds The word “water”Is not wet.
Citruses
Don’t pick an orange
for its enormous size.
The fatness of the citrus
is not a sign of its sweetness.
I’ve seen large oranges
that are firm and juiceless
And I’ve eaten tiny ones
so sweet and sumptuous
MEANINGLESS WORD
MEANINGLESS WORD
“Food is not ready,” Iya Oyo informed me. “This is just a snack. I know you are hungry” In Yoruba she said “Fi eléyìí panu. Mo mọ̀ pé ebi ti ń pa ẹ́.”
She left me a bowl full of boiled groundnuts. I loved boiled groundnuts. It was still in the shell. “You can throw the shells here after cracking them.” In Yoruba , she said, “Pa èèpo ẹ̀pà ná à sínú abọ́ yìí.
