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Requim for the moon; by Uzoma Nwaekpe Esq.
Feeble weaves of moon rays sank beneath the heath, the heath bore their totem into that womb swollen with the fabled,
in sibilant and strident notes, the myth had lived on, and forth, it went,
from he who told with calmness.
Inviolable wisdom, all mores, the clang of metals, joys, sorrows, profuse rhythms,
Borne by you, under whose watch we gathered. Your siblings’ lair sunk in the rest,
The mother at the tripod corner, ladling her broth, voicing sprightly latitudes,
Drawing themes from the ages, like an inspired sage, telling the wise Lamb,
The brave Tiger, and the mysteries of breath. Then the patriarchal codger,
tucked solemnly in his portal, speechifying origins and customs.
Now that we have buried the moon light,
and have our stories fixed on rolls and parchments, do we remember?
Now that the tripod corner vanished, and fixtures of tomorrow
rose where it once stood, do we remember?
Now that the portal is pulled down, and sight boards hoisted in its place,
now that we know better, tell me again, was the truth interred with the moon?
- Odengalasi, Uzoma Nwaekpe
