A Tributary In Servitude 11 Sorrow,Tears, and Blood

Conglomerates of shoddy laughters, theological prostitutes,

pathological gamblers, mirror in their shoes…

Horning the noon for harvests of scanty showers from the torment of our thunder king

In their long dream two jagged peaks Ethiopian piety rounded kola cheeks

Food for the machines gold in the air countless possibilities vulnerabilities…

The dream escaped from an aging daguerreotype and they are here

searching its tail on tropical diadems— vengeance is no longer of the Lord.

II. He presented his westward collar at the square,

he presented the forbidden fruit to them at the square.

He thrust his wishes at them from the page he closed their eyes and knelt them down in prayer to a God that understands

greed and allows evil to linger...

But before the last amen

he dispossessed them of vital organs and fed them crumbs of dog biscuits and left them in chains-of-status pride.

And he confused my great grandmother when she knelt by her mat before

the homeward trek shaking a rattle

Mouthing latest-in-town incantations:

Jesus-Christ-of-Lazarus

father-of-the-bulky-albino that fed us bread

Use your guilt to cleanse my blood and

use my blood to cleanse your sins

Protect my liver from the malevolent mothers, protect my chicks from the hawks,

let them crow and wake me up

when I tarry too long with my ancestors…

III. And came

Conglomerates of shoddy laughters theological prostitutes, pathological gamblers

mirror in their shoes…

Some had travelled the clan of sands

in dark-white-brown sand filters and flowing covers for the sheathes

Abandoning the dromedaries where sands sank in loam horse-footed to plant a lie

where little ones had once prevailed.
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Preprogramed zealots

turbaning the cowards of a pagan tribe at the slash of swords,

divisions are units of the supernatural

So they adopted a unified theorem—

the crescent from the east was to outshine all. Bold chiefdom totems litter earth's core ascending with the last breathe to Pagak.

And they emptied their thought-bin and sat them down on a holy mat— spectators of the divine will

drowned in the recitation of prison notes.

They ordered new jute bags to be brought with zeal that counts as a faithful's seal; they ordered new jute bags to be brought

and they hurled

The salt of the mines into them

they harvested the markets for a menial's wage

Offered a mouthful of dates in bargain for a lake

and they shout uhuru!

we're conquering the world.

IV. Pekélé pekèlè arúgbó jegbèsè…

on the day the pepper met the eye it spoilt the beauty of the eye.

Barking from the divining tray harbingers had lingered in the air the nose could not tell which

smell was what and from where and why.

For deep down the imposter's mind the earth foresaw a thunderstorm— a rage of metals,

a clash of cymbals.

Earthquakes calibrated on heart-sheets, rage of the iron one—

the death of ages

a harvest of blood.

The iron one re-summoned, crowned enormous death terrifying death

a forced hasty beginning—

endemic sorrow etched into hearts and lands.

Consider antecedents and see if we

would not have broken Darwin's otiose cycle? remember Alexandria?

problems were such as bedevil every soil.

Testimonies abide everywhere that earth is still red red earth that earth will be red red earth— humans made her so.

V. And the rumble of war is ceasing leaving rubbles of war everywhere— a new god to which we all assemble her flag flying at the shrine.

Annually we celebrate empire day,

we laugh happily with our sad mouths, annually we march heartily,

reliving the beginning of our woes.

Our eyes are wrinkled riverbeds where harmattan fires reign— two bottomless gullies are eyelets a cry that has refused to die.

Jaundiced scholars amuse themselves with the gyration of barbarous tribes— ignorance glorified, hallmark of western pedagogy.

Cradle in shambles

once fit only for the company of gods; cradle in shambles—

floor mat, the world's leading underdog?

A land of sorrow, tears and blood of hundreds of thousands dropping,

dropping under the weight of ivories on the seaward march.

Alas in all our barbarism

there was none savage as Leopard II pope-amongst-all-kings

who ate confidently with the devil.

Ferocious-rubber-eating-daemon see blood on his lips

see blood on his hands— heaps of hands of the slain

Are proof of meticulous cartridge usage may he find no rest in his grave

a sandal on the head and death to his seeds.

O how many courted death

just to escape the hell they had to bear; bought and sold like half-priced wares changing hands so quickly before they wither.

Blood, pure black blood

bought, sold and dehumanized for export blood, pure black blood

herrings rammed in a barrel.

Cold, putrid, dropping dead and hurled overboard—

our blood was the brilliant rum

that lifted our spirits a little above freezing point.

We lived with the spirits of the Aboriginal Arawak with women and children of

Cheyenne and Arapaho who merged with earth at sand creek.

Pulverized plundered

our spirits maimed— damn Columbus

Damn Mungo Park damn Livingston

and whoever blows the downpressor a kiss.

Napalm-soaked—

the banner of democracy is an emblem of death borne by the master purveyor of

violence worldwide…

VI. And came

Conglomerates of shoddy laughter theological prostitutes, pathological gamblers

mirror in their shoes…

They wanted to telepathize us like they did agbe— agbe became the indigo-coloured one of the forest, they wanted to telepathize us like they did àlùkò— àlùkò became the camwood-coloured one of the wilderness.

They wanted to telepathize us like they did òbùró— òbùró became the vagrant-blabber of the groves.

It was the Witness to destiny that uttered to alter the date of our death.

Hope-laden

in absolute hopelessness

and we are tired of playing dead

we want our liver back from Liverpool.

We mourn in supplication to the one whose throne is a tapestry of boundless mysteries; let our sack-hearts fill your barns with songs that ripen with dawn.

O that you will show us the light O that you will show us your light

that we may cleanse our blood-soaked-quilt that you may reverse this lingering eclipse…

Chapter end