Flashes

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...