By Ogah Friday David
In the dune’s eye is an
immaculate cascade what falls:
a strait of water or the songsmith’s
cello does not matter each
is a zombie tearing through the wayfarer’s ear
The whir and warble are same in motive —
to loot the crier’s voice and pillage the gong
When the river is sere and the ledge’s ego
grumbles who suffers punishment? Or
is it not blasphemy to behold the river die and not
strike the rock to petition the waters?
Gape at
the rod long enough it becomes wool/ no wonder
the visor swindles the elders what is visible
deceives the paddle/ deceives the liege/
The sandal thinks it thuds water and the water thinks
It thuds a sentry/ a beggars’ trade — understand: both,
finding a saviour in another this
parade stinks the rhythm/ measured but fatal
There is no grace/ no pity for the flora whether the iris
fights or surrenders it soon disappears for the poppy
Red travels blood it seems Harmattan eats the waterfall
VERSE ONE
my dear, the shriek that sunders my sleep
snatches the comfort off your breasts. take me
to a place free from the terrors of nightmare.
Ogah Friday David is a Nigerian poet and essayist based in Abuja. He has featured poems in Afrocritik, Aayo Magazine, Nantygreens Mag, The Rising Phoenix Review, EBOquils, IHRAF [International Human Rights Arts Festival] Publishes, The Moveee Mag, and Agapanthus Magazine. When not writing, Friday reads works on African literary criticism, politics, and watches a lot of movies. He can be reached via X and Instagram at @fridayogd.
Photo by Colin Lloyd on Unsplash