Gbom! Gbom!! Gbom!!!
Resounding clamor and thunderstorm
All morning jingle wake; dusk’s lullaby
As this hamlet is bathed in silence
Dead tranquility; like the spirits tread the night,
Whence tell the tale of a lost land.
When this evening, the dull sun
Who ushers the town crier
With gongs clamped; village mouthpiece
‘Tell the truth of night committee’
Saddened with your resonating tears
Of ways bashed in the tethering soil.
Iti mmanwu! Masked gods
Tell of reverence and adulation gone
Of gods profaned by our very hands
Of stashed artifacts of Ijele quiescent,
Robbed of dignity and worthiness
And buried in our rigid hearts.
Egwu Onwa! The folk stride
Lament of Children locked behind bars
As the full moon sways the eerie night
With no grey by her fireside
Or kids to warm the cold squares
Sorrowful, each full moon wanes in angst.
Thin dry land forsaken of old ways
Wail of life lost in your quest
As your sprout wings abroad
And color your beginnings in mud,
When these days haunt you
I shall tell of the town criers lament.
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