Abel Iseyen Ancientman writes

HEROES

Is this really a dog-eat-dog-world?

Do we really hate one another that much?
Are the loves in our hearts really so cold?
Is discrimination really our lot?
I don't think so...
...and I shall offer you my reasons:
Supposing a day comes,
Yes, a day so mean,
So cruel, so minacious;
And we're faced with the sudden
Invasions of lethal aliens;
...and they come at us with just one message:
"kill them all"
And they're as the sands of the seas,
Armed with sophisticated weapons.
Would we just act like a tree,
Who, after learning of his impending
Doom, still remains still?
Wouldn't we arise as one people,
Irrespective of our races, religions or genders
And devise means of defending ourselves?
Wouldn't we sit on a roundtable
and say to the Brits
"Please offer us strategic intelligence"
and to the Russians
"Please ready your RS-28 Sarmats"
Wouldn't the Chinese's spirits offer us great hopes?
...and the Americans, as usual, be at the centre of everything?
Wouldn't we pat one another on the back and say
"Be strong, for unity is our strength?"
...and the war breaks out
We, as comrades, confront our fears squarely:
In one spirit and in one soul:
Our backs against each other's backs?
In blood and in sweat, we stand.
...and they would come against us in all angles, in full force.
But we won't be shaken
For love and determination are the greatest weapons...
And we would fight them on lands,
on the seas, and in the air...
And it would be a fierce fight.
The kind no history book has ever recorded.
...and we would, every one of us, gives a very good account of ourselves.
And blood shall make a million rivers...
And they shall push us a step back
But we would push them to their doom...
And would make corpses out of them...
And we would make them wish they never came at us
and would crush them to pieces.
Their few remnants would pick up
pieces of their lives
and flee before us.
And shouts of victory shall greet our streets...
Our women will immortalize us in gallant-songs
To be sung even in new ages to come...
And we would give one another warm hugs;
and we would celebrate our victory with sweet-feasts...
And a black man would dine with a white man;
Muslims with Christians,
Boys with girls...
Young with old...
And we would say to one another
"Thank God we're one people."

Armageddon --Wojciech Tut Chechliński

Abel Iseyen Ancientman writes

BLANK PAGES

I shall sing a song,
an incarnated song
my Nka-ka taught me -
sitting at the bank
of a soughing river;
her grey hairs pouring
forth wisdom

I shall sing it with
an enduring passion...
with every lyric charming
all hearts...

the drummers -
whose fingers have been
oiled by the gods,
shall stand still, dumbfounded,
with the drums rolling
away - instinctively...

...and you shall wish for
a dance
but your legs shall be
too heavy to move...

Yesteryears,
when they gatecrashed into
our doorsteps
they said we were not at home
that we were aboreals...
that all they met were blank pages -
devoid of any organized lives,
a deleterious remark...
...tarnishing our image.

But they were wrong
for we did things in
our own ways,
and in accordance with
the wills of our gods...
we had the right!

Yes, we were a set of sophisticated people -
setting our standards
in our own ways
and in our own wills...
our gods are our witnesses!

You strangers saw those standards
but comprehended them not;
but they were in our dance steps,
in the beads we wore,
in the beauties of our women,
in the broad chests of our men...

...they were everywhere!

in our songs...
in our shrines...
in our dresses...
in the catwalks of our girls...
on every monument...

They were everywhere!

in the talking drums...
in our reverenced carvings...
in our sweet flutes...
in our moonlight tales...
in our customs and traditions...

Strangers, they were everywhere...
our gods are our witnesses...

You saw all these things
but comprehended them not...

we pardon your misconception of us,
for the mouth must give birth
to the contents of the mind...

 

Soliloquy: Life's Fragile Fictions -- Moyo Ogundipe

Abel Iseyen Ancientman writes

THE CALL

On the seventh day
Of the seventh month
In the seventh year of my elopement,
I heard your voice, Africa, calling.
Calling me by my name,
Yes, by the name my mother gave me.

I heard your call,
Not in susurrations,
But very loud and clear;
And I was thunderstruck, your
Voice delivering sweet songs
To my soul,
And your beauty, my heart's garment.

You called, not as a father,
But as a mother would,
With a voice so sweet and tender:
And so passionate that it gave me goosebumps.
And I realized that mother's milk
Is essential for a child,
And that man's first love is his home.

So at your call
I, like the prodigal son
Let go of my vanities
And yearned for my root.

And so I journeyed home -
Through the rainforest which
Had Nightingales singing for me
And the Giant Sequoia shading
My frame.
The crickets and the African-beings
Were not left out - as they made my
Return a memorable one.

Oh, how I have missed you, my Africa!
How I have missed your rustic scent.
Your palm wine still tastes great,
Your garment as porraceous as ever,
And your sons have grown into men!

Pardon the mistake of my youth O dear mother
For your dudgeon is ephemeral,
And your mercies, sempiternal.
 

Nightingale -- Simona Puikytė

Abel Iseyen Ancientman writes

Enomma,

my epitome of beauty.

today, before god and man,

i have refined my rhythm

in order to honour your name
 

My ocean of joy,

my sunshine,

please dance for me -

that African dance - once danced

on the soil of rich harvests...

slowly, yes very slowly my woman.

Forget the jealous eyes.

No one can ever be like you!

 

behold, I've cuddled

the gifted drum in my arms -

squeezing out its sweet nectar

to your taste -

my love, just the way your waist loves it

 

Please be possessed by its demons...

Let loose of that dance

that once tricked the moon

to tarry into morning!
 

Enomma,

my fetching plumeria,

the mandarin fish that

feeds the eyes with honey

Please dance for me...

Ignore the winks of others.

Your lover is here for you.
 

I, at this moment, this day,

have eaten your apple of love:

please let me

remain a sinner in love for eternity.
 

Enomma,

my southern tulip.

My favourite song

Please before this august gathering -

filled with love and palm wine,

I, of the Iseyen clan,

do humbly ask for

your pretty hands

in marriage... 

*notes

This is an African chant song.

Enomma is a maiden's name in Ibibio.

Abel Iseyen Ancientman writes

WE WERE BORN SAINTS

From our mothers' wombs, we came forth,
Immaculate and impeccable like august shrubs on a 

spacious field.
We were pure, infallible, with genuine smiles
That knew neither friends nor foes

Brothers, we were born saints

We were stainless doves,
The condign replica of the concierge's image -
Amicable, amiable, like summer roses.
We were angels, free from animosity and acerbity
We were the morning ray
The true habiliments of exquisite love.

Sisters, we were born saints.

We were meek, not hamate;
The exemplary simulacrum of perfect beings.
We were the southern wind.
The sacred book of holiness.
We were not vitiated, never, nor sanguinary vampires.
We, like panacea, were the pills of comfort.

Comrades, we were born saints.

Then the earth wooed our consciences and
Raped our innocence with disingenuous philosophies;
He stained our encephalons with rapacious thoughts.
Then we became sanguinary vampires, thieves,
Liars, outlaws, terrorists with temeranous personalities.

This is no longer us!

But comrades, know this for sure, that
From the onset, when we came forth from our mothers' wombs,
We were born saints.

 Triumph of the Innocents -- William Holman Hunt