Songs of Anisha
Striking his heart with a knife.
“In this Darkness of the Sun,”
by Etornam Agbodo
In this darkness of the sun
where princes eat from broken bowls
and kings must need lead the horse that bears the guest.
The sun is hidden this day and the moon plays false.
By the sweet falls
stands the amnicolist,
hands towards heaven,
calabash held high he prays for rain
lest he die of thirst.
In this darkness of the sun,
the clouds have chased the rays
and gloom takes hold
The mare’s milk feeds the duckling
and foals die starving.
Thieves steal the night dogs away,
the cat speeds from the fury of the mouse.
It is a dark afternoon
shall we look to night for light?
On this land rich with corn
her children must wait to glean.
We work the fire
they wear the jewels.
In this darkness of the sun
we till our land and buy the harvest.
The dog lies silent
observing the cat’s bark.
From our mill the bread is baked
and we clamour for the crumbs.
This moon that pretends at shine
must give credence the source it reflects.
The breast must be set free from the metal brassieres.
The starved infant must suck.
Stunted too long
let him now grow on mother’s milk
that was deprived him to feed the
glutton who never satiates.
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