Songs of Anisha
Avoiding the puddles that pollute
Our sky-white garments of peace
Defying the faces that stare, perplexed
And the barrage of words unspoken
For now we have found solace
For our pent-up hearts laden with emotions.
“The Travellers,”
by Barthosa Nkurumeh
You don’t need to worry
we are not in a hurry
our lorry left early enough
though we are heading for Warri
and of course, Port-‘arcourt
We are not worried
that by ten
we may not know fury
By then
We could only be weary
Or hours after then even: merry
And asking for cherries or fresh berries
We don’t need to board any ferry
This lorry is cool enough, dear
never dusty, never too domestic
It’s never lousy, dizzying and devoid of history
as you render and tender
we do not trust it’s so
It’s only too dream-like, too romantic
that even the aged among us dance
in golden silence.
We might be late now
but we are lateless
let it be heavy rain coming
Or a brooding darkness calling
by then we could be hairy
or hours thereafter merry.
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