Saturday, June 03, 2006

Poet and Nomad

Nomad? Yes, but not in the sense of true homelessness even though I have sometimes had to battle with the thought of a deeper kind of "lostness" and ubiquity. This nomadic ubiquity - or the desire to always be on the move, and see new places is from a far deeper consciousness that I am yet to be able to understand, or explain. And even within movements such as one that has sent me up north to cold Jos pleateau on National Service, I have found chance meetings with the past in empty abandon of restless trivia which belongs only to a time almost too long forgotten. In this cocoon of constant procession is the shuffling pack of what was, and what would be, without a thin line that blurs all the difference. Imagine Moses on the mountaintop with the best view of Canaan ahead but locked in a least-explainable dilemma of his own place in the multitude below.


Forward moving in paces mothers laid
Are steps taken now on paths trod times before.
A road winds thin here as new beginning
Though ever yet as constant trampling floor.

At once new, at once old, time flies
Once set free, once browsing on strange human ties
Old times bred new by fresh human forms
Still move me to recurring life paths of stray norms.

Being here, divine flesh onward on preying hands
For true meed meal had wandered free alive,
Shapes of mores mixed breed with human dream bands
All fly apart anew, again on real, now needful strive.

I can only wish, only vainly hope:
Real storms still drive on time's twenty-rope.

(Written in stupor on attempted reflection. The accomplices on the late-night binge were Benaiah Eluma, David Brown and Chris Ihidero March 2005, Niser Ibadan.)

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