MY THOUGHTS EXACTLY

The Feast


December has always been a great moment. Father and I always had a great and fabulous time when ever December come knocking on the door. If father were to be as youthful as I was, the world would have to look for a savior to save them from us. Between father and I, it was and it’s still a hard nut to crack when it comes to saying who was and is more stupid and wicked. Birds of the same feather they say flocks together; so I have been thinking of what birds of same feather and same blood does.
Our Christmas was always a feast even before we became something else- that was when our initiator, our teacher, the devil herself- yes the devil herself my mother was alive. Our last feast before her death was that of my younger brother’s. he had on his lips al the time that he was going to tell the villagers about our secrets- I warned him, father did too even mum who hardly warn before taking actions did but he felt it was a mere threat. Mum had a contrasting nose, it was pointed and yet wide, her teeth looks like those of a gorilla- her fingers which she hardly trims were long enough to compete with those of a tiger. Her mouth was a natural pout and her neck was a ring.
It was on a cold evening that we planned on cooking him. It was best for us to do that than let him have the community burn us alive. Father was a master of magic which he had insisted I would only learn when I clock twenty five. His eyes had a blazing fire therein and his palm was enough to show he wasn’t of the normal people. His head disproportionate and abnormally large show every sign of wickedness. His legs were a yam on a human skin with healed rashes all over. His fingers were always in between his teeth maybe trying to remove the meat that got trapped therein.
That night we called Adejoh out since our compound was away from the villager’s settlement. The villagers were always of the complaint that we were dangerous but they had no clue as to what degree or how devious we were, so when Adejoh came out of the room, he held onto the rapper which he wound around his tiny waist like a young teenage girl. Aches he called; my name was Acheneje but he usually calls me Aches since I wouldn’t allow him to call me big brother. He was only nine years old.
Where is Dad and mum he asked not suspecting a thing. I held hands with him in a mother pupil fashion and led him into our secret underground abattoir. It was his first time there and would be his last.

When we got inside the abattoir, he turned sideways as if searching for something but I had no idea what. You mean this is the den where you carry out your evils? He roared. The abattoir was moderate with a large table to contain a tall human. There were lots of knife and cutlass everywhere- since we were expert we do not require many tools. A moderate frying pan, which house our ever available oil for frying sat somewhere around the corner and because we had orchards in the compound, we never ran out of vegetables or spices. We grew them all season season- onions and lettuce were my favourite on a human liver, especially when garnished on traditional fried rice. It is always sweet that one would be hitting me while eating and I won’t wobble. I love human liver so much.
Dad and mum came out dressed like a Chinese chef about to cut an elephant into pieces. What is going on Adejoh asked afraid of his own words. He tried to run out but his legs had already became heavy and stiff. No one answered him; all dad did was to sway his magical hand to make him voluntarily lie on the flat table before he finally gave up the ghost without anyone even trying. We don’t usually struggle with our victims- it was always easy since dad’s magic was effective enough to save us the trouble of making ruckus that might bring suspicion from the villagers.
We ate Adejo’s meat for almost a week and buried some when they began to spoil. His chin and ear, nose, and breast were the part I enjoyed the most. The ear and nose were just like brisket bone which I loved most when I used to enjoy chicken. The chin looked exactly like the breast of a turkey, a matured turkey. It was a normal thing for us as they there was not a single sign of remorse in us. Dad went to the community head to report that his son was missing. We cried crocodile tears for almost two weeks. Sympathizers of all kind came until everyone got the conviction that he was gone to never return. We were happy that he was gone before making a hell for us on earth. It was long enough too that mum died in her sleep. We didn’t eat her since we were very conscious of our reputation and secrets. It was after the devil herself that I got my proper initiation. Dad thought me all the magic I needed. The evil had just begun…….

Advertisements

Pride for Sale


Inikpi

The daughter of our father

The pride of our land

The source of our happiness

Your name resonate the earth

As the Ega river overflow its bank

To wash your feets

 

The beauty of your being

Beautify the lands of your children

The Igala-mela

You are its beauty

 

Before thy presence

Stood a tree under which

I shed oceans

From the pains and sorrow

And I swamp in it

The river of your offspring’s doings

 

At inachalo

The home of victory

There, the strayed children

Of your sons and daughters

Devour one another

There is a land

Where cockroaches rule over chicken

 

Under the tree

Of my father’s youth

I hear the songs – Iga bird sang

Reminding us

Of your beauty

Which your offspring sold

Sold to the cockroach

That now rules over chickens

A Call for Passion


The pain that our hearts holds

the distance we have to cover

to find peace

would but only decrease

If You and I would unite

 

like the rainbow

shooting out

in the virgin sunset

The atmosphere would become really beautiful

If You and I would unite

 

Without You I can’t find peace

like a traveler lost and dejected

I can’t find rest

i am an ocean wide and long

but there isn’t a current

 

As love is incomplete, the world seems incomplete

Come and fulfil my wishes

the unity that the world would longed for

The heart just desires

That our love story becomes complete

 

All the difficulties would become easy

If You and I would unite

There’s nothing left

still the heart doesn’t heed to me

The talks of the heart can only

be understood by itself

May we meet someplace, someday

I’m alive only on this hope

I would accomplish all ambitions

If You and I would unite

The Glimpse


Under the tree

where my father spent his childhood

climbing and jumping

like a matured toad

towards the mother dust

i listened to

the iga bird sing

the song of wisdom

my mother sang putting me to bed

 

my father said

the dabobo from the east

brings good luck

to children who adore their presence

 

under the tree

that father saw paradise

i loll while

taking a moment from the fountain

left untouched and unscrambled

 

i remembered

how we sang dabobo dabobo

the song of paradise

that we sang every morning

and the whistling songs of iga

that signifies joy and happiness

 

like the question

where is God

under the tree of fountain

i asked the question

that got no answer

where is our dabobo and iga

the sign of every child’s joy

Tale of a Mirage


From the pages of the past

Like the legs of egwu

Responding to the rhythmic sound of the drum

My pen dances on the paper

While collecting from the fountain

The memory that was once precious

 

Like the sandy soil

Soiled and moist

After a heavy down pour

My eyes swamp in tears

 

What was there

And what was not there

Is but only a thing now

 

Like a mirage ahead of a traveler

You stood somewhere far but near

And disappear before my reach

 

From the pages of the past

My heart reads out

The story that was once a diamond

And sacred

What was once there

And what was not there

Is but only a thing now

 

Like the legs of egwu

My pen dances

Writing from the fountain of memory


%d bloggers like this: