A Tributary In Servitude 7 Torrents From Silence
I. When two look at twotheir silence holds a million tales— emotions eruptconvulsing folds of pa.s.sion melt into lava and hunger twice asdesert for solidity of their molten rock.Minister more to the daemons of our earth woman—my toe bleeds by your fickle light.It has not been easyfor our egg dwelling in a crevice of disintegrating rocksDesist from smouldering the wick of my sanctuary the desecration of the holies of my essencemy pa.s.sions jump at your fickle light.I remember the search—Methuselahanwhen earth was yet fresh and red when the guinea fowl had not known the venom of knives when lions yet ate leaves and danced with higher apeswhen a.s.sorted fishes were yetcovenant suckers of the breast of the seas when pines were not in apples yet—my age of innocenceWhen my voice was neither hoa.r.s.e nor coa.r.s.e as the laughter of a G.o.dor grown hairy outcasts on the parched civilizations of my belly.Then, I was innocentholy to the bone and twice as Gabriel for what was a female friend?some laughable stock to nag, scorn, tease and scoff or maybe once after service a saintly devil whosehands, I would shake in contempt.But suddenlythey now appear the guide piloting the music of my dreams some Theresa in the creeks waiting to cure me of hagload from wanderings in the creeks.Olokun has stolenthe scales from my eyes— shaken in the new dawn of responsibilities beneath the icing-sugar-laced rhythms of heart exchange;where is my innocence?But I enjoy loving herwith this bald soul from the deserts of my heartI enjoy loving herand she still leads the way to my morrow…II. When it mattereda fool bade farewell at the climax of dawnretiring to ranch to probe animal-self— testimonies in denial,our graves a haven of wealth.She wept,gathered her muscles on the underside of silence,"Chameleon of a man," she groaned; "I trustedyou fanatically you lied,and I believed you,love should seeah!a still stone beside the stream gathers mossI should have rolled."She poured her venom at the sun"I will no longer trust the sun and moonand stars…the sun beheld me chasing winds on horses of fantasy andthe sun was mute.
Find authorized novels in Webnovel，faster updates, better experience，Please click for visiting.I refuse to be softened by your smile O second skin, my light-bringer."
But she calmed downstretched out in harmony with the sun through rugged terrains— calculations I thought impossiblein the colony of wordsa hundred poetal marks clothe my baboon cheekas tell-tale of my journey in the creeks.Now I must abolish monogamy now I must establish polygamyto retrieve my joy from the sieves of sorrow.And she's crossed to the other side pledging never to love againAnd how do I crossover? No boat, no paddle,no swimming skills—she does not believe reincarnation.I weep, separated from my folly for my newfound providesa different kind of joy.Tear-crusts fall from her dry-eyed lawn I cannot go thither,she cannot come hitherIn between us triumphsthe tragedy of rights in conflict.We can no longer merge 'motions in our search for listingsin the clamour of the G.o.dsShe weeps from unbelief mouthing"Call for the sledgehammer I want to break my bones and show the night your fire in my blood."Needn't we say the neurosis of our parting requires no therapy of separationbut an asylum of mellowed reunion?Count me the prodigal evoking the fragrance of return on the nostrils of your bosom.III. And she smiled,dumping disbelieffor my flowers of regret she smiledmerging my images in one—two tales of a person I have confused myself.I set sail redolent of wind-torn hammock drifting emissary onbeleaguered oceansmy heart is weather-beaten and empty; my soul is berserk on thundering waters.I have drifted with my last breath to your harbour, O minister!turn on the lights of your harbour, womanMy visions are animated at your torch of dew—white–washed ewes fresh from a milky bath flashing reflections of light at meA hanging glory towering far above my-pigmy-self.Who knows what fugitive will cure your land? who knows what melody we will make of it? this woe-road and its bloodthirsty tentacles— pilgrimage as servitude so sweet there'sa ministering angel to a.s.sist my father.IV. I will stand here with my share of sorrow awaiting your nod,distant realities on the map of my marrow bid me stay.I will stand here with my share of sorrows tributary in stagnancy,senses alert to signals of rut and much sweeter agonies.And I will recline on the mystery that is you,after the holocaust— replace the drawbridge.V. I gather all my sorrows to plead my caseWe crumblepalm branch and low rush on the lawn of your templeawaiting your melody that jails all doubts.I await your resurrection as in my dreams,your nod to certainty brewing more harmony—Mythical symphonyintoxicating the wildest of daemonsAnd the angels sway to the lines of your successO ministering angel.I await your thunder in the realities of my dream.VI. Walking out of nostalgia straight into exhilaration,I remember the legacies I drank swore to nurture for they glow earthward from the moon.And only you can make my dreams come true woman,heading the way— reins in hand to steer me through woe-road.Purge me of past idiocies come alive in meonce more.Take me back in your arms— to know the joy that is you, the agony that is you,and the pleasures of the cross which stream from your curly lips.Judge my intentions before settling down, sieve all my being with your knowing eye.I was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d ofthree fathers, of nine concubinesI promise to hide my s.e.x from the worldI promise to shut my smelly mouth in public I prefer the music of your feet—pretty little pearls in settings of diamonds.What wind would daze the flute, if not you? what ocean will clay my desert, if not you? your silent eye tells a million tales—orange brewed, kola spiced intermingling corollary beauty braided mermaidarchangel of my constant Eden.What are clouds? what is thunder?what is breeze in turmoil without rain?What is ash without salt? sea without water?me without you? you without me?occasional bursts of fury without rain;fruits without seed seedtime without harvest.VII. My ministering angelyour eye is half a lion's tooth ramming iodine into ribs of silence; a pa.s.sionate agonyit is your folly that will kill my bard.Miner of words that sell only in your market earslet them chirp let them mutterthe pot is ruler of snails as none dare marry fire to water, clamour for thunder in a season of drought.Abandon the world by the bank of the streamthe crab never sleepsthe crab has sold its sleep like the drinkard sold his death.Roll into my burrow swiftly in grace that will murder the angelsDig into my castle establish your rootspa.s.s a three-strand-motion in the parliament of G.o.ds.Infect my blood stream the soul of my heart my ministering angelAnd alwaysI knew I couldrestart my destiny by shattering our silenceI await your thunder inthe realities of my dream…