in midst of vicissitudes
you say
let bygones be bygones
how can this be
when one bygone has eloped
bagging along
his inadequacies
beyond boarders unknown
and the other lounged into a hole?
I digress...
and come to think of it
how similarities ring through -
that it rained in Ojoto:
after my grandmother was buried,
after my father was interred,
after my sister went to the grave.
and you may say:
rain is
now a herald of cleansing
a revelation
that their souls have reached
beyond the clouded realm of eternity.
I move on...
these vicissitudes come to town
where everything is in God's hands;
co-harbouring
in a makeshift shade
accommodating spent men -
labourers
hungry and begging
in casting and binding session.
I shake my head...
next to them
a political signage on Trans-Ekulu bridge -
three big fat heads smirking at them
whose god is better?
I wish...
that the rain:
that leveller of realities
can sweep these vicissitudes
down Udi hills to the tributaries
linking the river lines
to the Atlantic's high current.
they sail away...