I lay there on that rat-shredded raffia mat; <br />my thoughts running through the bush paths <br />to meet my dreams at the bottom of the Iroko tree. <br /> <br />Full moon comes and goes, <br />I still lay on that mat staring at agama lizards creeping <br />up and down the bamboo sticks that hold my mud hut up. <br />Hope sneaking away like smoke from the burning fire woods <br />through the holes in the thatch roof of mother’s kitchen <br /> <br />I am like a tilapia fish roasting <br />on the woods of time, In the heat of harmattan <br /> <br />I am deaf to the sounds of <br />talking drums and crying wooden flutes <br />that play me to our ancestors <br />in high notes on traditional clefs. <br />sightless to the heart melting sight of <br />naked pot-bellied children <br />laughing and playing in the mud <br /> <br /> <br />I push the burning fire woods together under the steel tripod stand <br />and splints of fire, fly to the air like in a performance to cheer me up <br /> <br />my dreams have uprooted the Iroko tree <br />but my reflection in the eyes of reality hasn’t changed, <br /> <br />I have learnt to chew with content <br />when boiled yam, dipped in palm oil meets with my watering tongue, <br /> <br />The man drinking palm wine and breaking kola nuts with <br />my father in his thatch roof hut after a long day in the yam farm <br />lights a picture of me painted on the walls of tomorrow <br /> <br />At mid night when the moon smiles down <br />And when we gather to sing and dance; <br /> <br />I dance until my hope is tired <br />and until my dreams lay down to sleep; <br />to sleep through that long and vibrant African night.<br /><br />konye ori<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/long-african-night/
