African traditional art

The Escapade

When the baobab split and gave life to spirits

that wander among our drooling huts,

Olu had our umbilical cords strapped to his girdles.

When the dew coughed and spewed forth blood

upon the craggy Hills and blessed the flowering of the daffodils,

the gods took heed and thundered in the heavens.

It was not the first of the baptisms, the bloodshed, nor the sacrifices;

But the anxious can find potency in drinking deep from the chalice of envy.

I was there that night,

I was there.

I heard the beating of the rod

that forged all that is manly

and witnessed the mounds of clay formalize into tendering breasts.

The gods did this, the gods made me a witness.

-the barbaric, repulsive gods whose shrines now crumble beneath your pews.

The ancestral escapade that blemishes our names.

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